A Game of Red and Blue
by KoutaDragara
Summary: When the Administrator replaces some of her mercs, let's just say her remaining men won't have such a boring three more years of service. *Vague summary is vague* Rated T for violence, language, and eventual sexual themes. OCs are vital to the story, and canonxOC pairings prosper. Non-slash.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, guys!

First fanfiction I've written in a _long_ time, I know. So really, I'd just like to go ahead and warn y'all now not to expect too much from me. I know the size of just the first chapter might look like a lot, but it's probably not all that impressive content-wise. I'm trying, but I'm just not that good.

I was a little apprehensive to post this, since not only am I not very confident in my writing skills, I'm also just afraid to start another project with good potential and bail out within the first couple of chapters. I'll probably do it anyway, but... Maybe I can pull through this one if somebody stays on my back about it, since this story is one I'd really like to get out to the TF2 fandom. I've been thinking about bits and pieces of it for awhile now, and think I might've come up with something good. ;)

I hope everyone enjoys my adventurous steps back into the world of fanfiction!

Oh, wait...

First, disclaimer time, even though I do believe it's fairly obvious that I don't own TF2 or anything related to it except my fanfictions/fanarts. If I did, Sniper would have actually gotten new lines in the recent updates. c':

Team Fortress 2 and All Official Content © Valve

* * *

"Mission begins in thirty seconds," rang out an ever-condescending voice that was all too familiar to the men fidgeting about inside their respective bases. Inside the BLU base, Scout was bouncing back and forth in place, pumping himself up to capture the REDs' Intel; at the same time, Engineer was double-checking his toolbox for any missing supplies, Soldier was trying to pack any extra rockets he could into his already-cramped ammo pouch, and Demoman was taking a good, long swig of his beloved scrumpy, partly attempting to rid himself of yesterday's hangover. The RED base wasn't much different.

"Mission begins in ten seconds." The last-minute preparations stopped and every man braced himself for the stampede out of the respawn room.

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One!" With the end of the final countdown, the round-starting siren screeched, its howl permeating every nook and cranny of Teufort, piercing the men's eardrums as they rushed to their standard positions and went forward with traditional strategies. Heavy, Soldier, Medic, Pyro, and Demoman all charged at the enemy team in a full-frontal assault; Scout leapt onto the bridge and sped directly into the enemy base; Spy slunk down into the sewers and crossed over behind the enemy lines unseen; Sniper perched at the center of the top walkway, picking off the REDs one by one; and Engineer ran to the Intel room and set up his machinery, ready to defend his employer's secrets.

The battle went without much of anything particularly interesting happening, as had become the norm lately. BLU stole the Intel at times, other times RED managed to succeed; everyone died on occasion, but they respawned without fail; mixing strategies halfway through the match did little to ease the feeling everyone had of merely going through the motions, and this was something the Administrator picked up on as she kept a keen eye on all of her mercenaries.

She took note of everyone's sub-par performance, which had started to appear on every battlefield: everyone tended to die more and kill less, although the general outcomes of matches were the same as they always were: all in all a fairly even win-to-lose ratio for both teams. She could tell their boredom was rising by the day and had the feeling that they would soon be requesting a raise.

This troubled her.

The incredibly generous wages the mercenaries were paid to mindlessly kill each other almost every day was, for TF Industries, usually not even a small scratch in the company's revenue, and even large raises were no trouble at all. But for reasons the Administrator was unable to fathom, it had recently seen a decline in profits over the past few months (perhaps the Soldier's theory that hippies were going to take over the world was right, at least to a certain degree), and while the black ink hadn't turned red yet, it was only a matter of time before it did at the current rate.

While still intently watching the various monitors and sending out commands and warnings as needed, she weighed her options if questions of wages were brought up at the next video conferences, which were to take place the next night. If she agreed to increase their wages significantly, the price would eventually cause TFi to go bankrupt, and they would likely strike until they could be paid again, or they might even come for her directly. If she refused to increase their wages, the unpredictable nature of her mercenaries could come back to bite her just the same. Either way, she was not in a particularly enjoyable situation, and she scowled at the monitors as the gears in her scheming head turned.

* * *

BLU Scout madly dashed over the top of the center bridge, the RED Intel strapped to his back with its precious contents flowing out behind him and relentlessly marking his trail. He leapt over the large gap at the end of the bridge and ungracefully landed on the relative safety of the BLU walkway, nearly falling on his face but managing to right himself just in time. He turned to see the RED Pyro that had chased him out standing on the RED walkway, doubled-over and presumably panting.

"Ha! Can't even make it on da bridge, can ya?" taunted the cocky Bostonian from across the battlefield. "Ya freakin' mute moron!" Pyro stood up straight and turned back into his own base, but not before sending a quite visible middle finger at Scout.

"Scout, ya know it ain't wise to piss off the enemy Pyro, right?" Sniper said as he walked past his younger teammate.

"You know he's too slow ta catch me! Everyone in dis damn place is," boasted Scout with his chest pridefully puffed out as he strolled next to Sniper. "I am the 'epit-tome' of speed," he added, impressed with his new vocabulary word he had found the week before.

"Right," the Australian sarcastically replied with a roll of his eyes and an adjustment of his aviators. "Then why do I seem to remember you holding the record for most deaths in a single match for the longest time, until ya broke your own record by about ten deaths?"

At that, Scout's chest deflated and he stopped in his tracks. He held his finger up and opened his mouth as if to say something, but couldn't think of anything and his hand slowly fell.

"Oh, and it's 'epitome', mate." Sniper chuckled and went inside respawn to refill his ammo, leaving Scout outside staring at the door.

"I knew dat. And about da record, dat… Dat's because I, uh… _let_ 'em shoot me! Yeah, yeah! Gotta let 'em feel good about demselves sometimes, right?" the boy said to the door. Whether Sniper actually heard him, he didn't know.

"Scout!" barked a loud, gravelly voice from behind him. He jumped in surprise and quickly turned with his scattergun aimed in front of him only to find himself face-to-face with none other than Soldier. "_Great."_

"Just _what_ are you doing standing around in the open with the enemy's Intelligence?! Asking the _door_ for directions?!" the man yelled, his face mere inches from Scout's and spit sprinkling from his gaping mouth.

"Dude, calm da fuck down! Sniper, uh, distracted me with, uh, talkin' about records an' stuff!" Scout had completely forgotten that he had the Intel, and figured it was just his luck to run into Soldier of all people when he had a job to do and wasn't doing it.

The door behind them promptly rolled up and the aforementioned Australian leisurely stepped outside and around the pair, heading back towards his perch. They watched him, and it wasn't long after he round the corner that a rifle shot was heard accompanied by their companion's dying scream.

"Well, Sniper won't be distracting you for a while now, so get your skinny little ass in gear, and cap that Intel before I do it myself! Do I make myself clear, private?!" Soldier had gradually worked himself over Scout until he was practically on top of him, and his menacing presence gave Scout all the more incentive to nod quickly and visibly. With his point across, Soldier replaced his rocket launcher on his shoulder and tromped back to the battle.

"Geeze, everyone in dis place needs ta fuckin' chill out. _Especially_ Major Malfunction," Scout grumbled as he adjusted the strap on his satchel and made off for his team's Intel room.

* * *

The battle at Teufort was over, the BLUs had won, and everyone had gone back to their respective home bases to rest and resupply for the next day. At BLU's headquarters, dinner had already been served and eaten, but no one was ready to sleep just yet. Rather, almost everyone hung out in the living room, not much for living up to its name with its rather bare interior, and killed time.

"You know it's your turn, right mate?" Sniper asked as he waited on Heavy to make his move in their ever-lengthening game of chess.

"Da," the Russian replied in his deep, accented voice. "I am thinking." He was scratching his chin and staring intently at the board, somewhat confirming his statement, but Sniper couldn't help but sigh and slump over a little in his chair. "This move is being hard decision."

"Just let me know when you're done, alright?" he said as he pulled his hat over his head and proceeded to nap.

"Heavy, I zhought you vere good at chess," said Medic, not looking up from the book he was reading. "You've beaten me und Spy many times before. Even Engineer on occasion."

"I know this. And I will win this game too. Is just, there are so many moves I could make here that would win game, but I do not know which one to pick." Sniper lifted up his hat and stared at Heavy for a moment with a rather indecipherable expression, but then returned to his nap with a shake of his head.

"And here I almost zhought we might have had a new chess champion," mocked Spy as he lit himself a new cigarette.

"Piss off, Spy," Sniper shot back, not moving from his position in the slightest.

"Oh, don't be such a sore loser, bushman."

"You two should really stop fightin' like an old married couple. People's gonna get ideas," Scout said with a chuckle. Spy and Sniper were obviously not amused.

"Don't even _joke_ like zhat, boy."

"For once, I agree with the spook."

"Sheesh. Nobody can take a joke around here, can dey?" Scout left the group to join Pyro in front of the television. He sat next to the firebug and they stared at the static on the screen together. "Yep. Best reception eva, right?" Pyro nodded in agreement, and Scout couldn't tell if he was just staring out of boredom like himself or genuinely interested. Frankly, he didn't even care.

"You boys really that bored?" asked Engineer from the couch as he fiddled with an unrecognizable piece of machinery.

"Mmm-hmm," replied Scout.

"You two sure there ain't nothin' at all to do?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Aw, I'm sure there's something y'all can do. Ya might not wanna do it, but you can still do it. Should help cure that boredom."

"Are you, like, tryin' ta tell me ta do chores or somethin'?"

"Kinda, yeah. When was the last time you took out the trash? It's gettin' kinda piled up."

"Been awhile, an' I ain't plannin' on doin' it anytime soon, either. So sorry, pal. Get Pyro ta do it."

"Actually, Pyro does most of the chores around here. Plenty more than you do, anyways." At that, Scout jumped up and stood threateningly in front of the Texan.

"Ya tryin' ta say somethin', Engie?"

"Maybe I am," he calmly replied without even looking up from his tinkering.

"Ya callin' me lazy or somethin'?"

"Sure, we'll go with that."

"Well, I'll show _you_ lazy, ya lazy bum!" Scout then rushed out the door to find the nearest trashcan to empty. He had to prove Engineer wrong on his insult, or else he'd never be able to let it go. And admittedly, he _was_ slightly relieved to have found something to do. Taking out the trash was a little bit better than pointlessly staring at static.

"You're really gonna have to tell me how ya do that, Truckie," Sniper said in a surprised tone.

"Just a little bit o' reverse psychology, Stretch," Engineer answered with a light smirk, still tinkering with his metal treasure.

* * *

"Alright, everyvone. Lights out," called Medic at exactly ten-thirty. Most everyone was still in the living room and heard his announcement, but there were two people unaccounted for. After saying his good-nights to all but Heavy, his assistant when it came to this nightly task, the pair set out to find the missing mercenaries and they both had a fairly good idea of where they were. They made their way to the back porch of the base and sure enough found Soldier and Demoman drunk out of their minds, as was their ritual.

"I still do not know vhy you two insist on getting so drunk every night," Medic scolded as he picked up the bottles of alcohol Soldier and Demoman had been drinking and dropped them in the nearby trash bin.

"Because, laddie-hic-it's our secret to-hic-success…!" Demoman managed to slur out before collapsing out of his chair and onto the floor.

"Yeah…-burp-What Cyclops said," chimed in Soldier as best as he could while groping the air where his missing bottle previously was.

"Come on, Heavy. Let's get zhem to bed," Medic said with a tired sigh.

"I am wondering if it is not best to leave them here from now on," the Russian joked as he helped Demoman off the floor, making sure not to rough the Scot up too much; he most certainly would not enjoy going to sleep if he had recently been vomited on. "If they do this every night, perhaps they wish to sleep outside in cold. Take shelter in bushes. Heheh."

"Vhile I vould love to take you up on your offer, Heavy, I am afraid zhe Administrator vould have mein head for alloving her mercenaries to fall ill," Medic replied, chuckling. Heavy responded with a lighthearted shrug.

"Eh. You will respawn."

"Zhen she vould do somezhing much vorse zhan killing me."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, but zhat voman vould find _somezhing_." They both snickered at their boss's rather unforgiving nature and continued on their way.

They slowly but surely traversed the hallways of their headquarters and managed to make it up the stairs to the bedroom hall without trouble. The drunken mercenaries were taken to their respective rooms and left to change on their own, which Medic knew they were highly unlikely to manage to do, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He was tired and had done enough for them that day.

The pair exchanged sleepy good-nights and Heavy went into his room on the hall while Medic traveled back down the stairs and into the Med-Bay where his own room was. As he opened the door to his office, he was greeted by a familiar furry, white ball on his right foot, and he stooped to pick it up.

"Oh, hello zhere, Socrates," he crooned as he cuddled his favorite pet rat. Socrates squeaked happily as his owner scratched him behind his ear, and the rat rubbed up against him in a show of affection.

Medic closed the door behind him and moved around his perpetually cluttered desk, barely missing its corner in the dark. He passed by the short hallway on his left that led to the waiting room with the operating room and recovery room at the farthest end, and stepped inside his bedroom. It was just as cluttered as his desk, the organized chaos spreading from one end of the room to the opposite, and there were several more fur balls lazing about wherever they found space.

"Schön dich zu sehen," Medic greeted his pets as he set his closest companion down in his shelter along with two others. "I take it everyzhing has been good und vell in mein room?" He found the bag of food he had prepared for them and poured a sufficient amount into the large bowl that sat inside the cage as the white rodents hurried to get their share.

"Don't fight meine freunde. Zhere is enough food for everyvone." He picked up their nearly empty water bottle and filled it up at the sink in his small bathroom, quickly replacing it. He gave each of his friends a quick scratch and closed their shelter up for the night before changing into his favorite pajamas and collapsing on the bed, falling asleep within minutes.

* * *

"Miss Pauling. How is the 'project' going?" the Administrator asked as she put out her previous cigarette and pulled out a new one. Her cold, calculating stare seemed to easily read right into the younger woman's soul, but she had become somewhat accustomed to it by now and didn't falter.

"Everything is going smoothly. The team has made the necessary changes to the samples you've given them and are ready to move on to the growth stage," she explained to her employer in the most efficient way she could.

"Good. I'm almost impressed with the promptness so far. Tell me when this phase is complete. I want to see the results with my own eyes," she commanded with her usual superior air before turning in her chair to resume her relentless watch. "You are excused."

Miss Pauling nodded respectfully and quickly left her employer's foreboding, smoke-filled office, glad to see the bright and relatively cheery light of the hallway once again. It was too early in the morning to be sent into that dreaded room, even if only for a brief moment.

* * *

"Good mornin', fellas. I'm glad to see everyone's all bright and chipper today," Engineer said jokingly as he noted his teammates' half-asleep demeanors as they sat at the dining table lazily eating any remaining breakfast on their plates. He turned towards the box mounted on the wall behind him and waited a brief moment as the box came to life with a whir and printed out a small note. He took the note and skimmed it before turning back to the team.

"Today's match is at Dustbowl."

"Man, really? God, Dustbowl is so _old_!" Scout exclaimed in a rather childish show of disappointment that was only made all the more juvenile by his pronounced pouting.

"Son, I don't decide where we fight. The Administrator does, so if you'd like to take that up with her, be my guest."

He placed the note in the file kept on the shelf directly beneath the box, then took his dishes from his spot at the table and placed them in the tub next to the sink. Most of the others followed suit, leaving only Scout, Demoman, and Soldier sitting at the table. Scout was still shamelessly pouting about having to fight on a boring battlefield while the two hungover mercenaries had just about fallen back asleep, with Demoman slumped over in his chair and Soldier with his face lying in his scraps.

"Come on, mates. Ya gotta get up sometime," Sniper said as he shook Demoman's shoulder and pulled Soldier's head off of his plate by the scruff of his jacket. "Up ya go." They slowly came to and placed their dishes in the tub with everyone else's, but not without sleepily arguing over who got the last sip of alcohol.

"Scout, that means you too, son," Engineer added, patting Scout on the head like a puppy. Scout didn't approve of that treatment, however, and swatted away Engineer's hand, making his irritation known.

"Yo, I'm not a little kid or whatever."

"You might not physically be a kid, but you sure are actin' like one. And I've had enough of it for right now, so you just go and get yourself ready."

"You're not my Pa, so stop tryin' ta tell me what ta do, ya fuckin' redneck!" Sniper watched as Engineer's face grew darker somehow and he began to get nervous.

"Son, if I _was_ your Pa, I would'a done beat you up an' down the hall all the way to the station by now for what you just said. In fact, I got a right mind to do it anyway, so boy, you'd best get outta my sights 'fore I go through with it." Sniper could see that Scout was about to do or say something he'd regret, so he quickly jumped in between them before the confrontation could escalate any further.

"Scout, I think you should really just do what he says. It'll make things a whole lot easier for everyone involved." Without waiting for an answer from the Bostonian, he pushed him in the direction of the supply room, making sure to put him out the door. He was glad when Scout didn't fight back too much and went on his way.

"God, that boy is hopeless," Engineer sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sniper grabbed Scout's dishes and made the last contribution to the dish tub that morning.

"I guess we really can't do much to change him."

"Was he always this bad, though?" Engineer tried to remember back to when the team had first met, a little over a year ago.

"I can't really pick a yes or no on that one. I suppose he was just as bad, but in a… different way," Sniper considered as they walked together towards the resupply room.

"How exactly?"

"He was annoyin' as hell. Always way too hyper, couldn't fathom personal boundaries, never stopped talkin'… The list really goes on."

"And now he's always rude, irritated, and… Bored," concluded Engineer.

"Heh. Aren't we all? Bored, I mean."

"Well, maybe that's his problem. Maybe this is how he acts when he's bored for too long."

"Hm. Now that ya mention it, most everyone seems a little touchier lately. And I'm includin' meself in that."

"Maybe we really should talk to the Administrator about this at the video conference tonight. I mean, I can't really take much more of Scout behavin' the way he is, and admittedly somethin' new would be appreciated by everyone, I think."

"Hey, if we can't get somethin' new like a battlefield, then perhaps raises would be to everyone's agreement? I know I wouldn't mind getting' more motivation to keep doin' what I'm doin'."

"Yeah, I think that'll satisfy. Good thinkin', Stretch."

"Ah, no problem, Truckie."

They reached the resupply room, an otherwise bland room filled with cabinets and shelves of weapons and ammunition haphazardly separated by owner, and found everyone else collecting their equipment for the day's match. It didn't take long for the group to gather everything they needed, and they all headed for the station, as they called it, together.

The station was a large room with the walls covered in computers, filing cabinets, and film rolls. On the left side of the room, a great cabinet stored the sensitive machinery that worked the vital respawn system, and in the center of the room were two large teleporters, an entrance and an exit, whirring excitedly with blue light from their rapidly-spinning arms. The teleporters were large enough that the entire team could fit together on one to be teleported all at once, and they were controlled by a computer directly in front of them.

The BLUs stepped onto the entrance teleporter as Engineer set the destination as Dustbowl and started the countdown for teleportation to commence. After a minute had passed, they found themselves no longer inside their headquarters and instead inside the underground BLU base for the first stage of Dustbowl. It wasn't long before the Administrator's voice rang loud and  
clear in their heads for the first, but certainly not last, time that day.

"Mission begins in sixty seconds." The day had officially begun.

* * *

Tanslation Note (I really don't know if this is correct, though. I only have Google Translate as a reference, so if this or any other foreign words/phrases in the story are incorrect, then please do tell me!) -

"Schön dich zu sehen" = "Good to see you"

OK, so I know this first chapter might seem boring and unrelevant to the overarching plot, but trust me. Once some characters are introduced (and some are taken away), I think the story will pick up. However, there might be several more of these "filler" chapters, since I'm trying to really work in details of all the official characters' backstories and extra-mercenary relationships, and also just tell the stories of everyone's lives as mercs over the next three years or so. There will be battles, there will be vacations, there will be celebrations, and there will be just regular, everyday hanging-around-the-base in addition to the "important" stuff. You might say I'm just trying to drag this out, but I really just want to explore the characters this way. It could either be a horrendous disaster, or it could be a positively magnificent stroke of genius. You never know.

I'm focusing a lot on BLU team at the moment, but that's because throughout the story, most of the more important characters kinda wound up being BLU, meaning that most of the major events occur BLU-centric. I do plan on shifting over to RED every now and again, and eventually writing about all the mercs in general. Just bear with me.

Well, that's all I can think of for right now, so... Here's to hopefully finishing the next chapter! c':


	2. Chapter 2

What is this? I actually updated? Maybe there's hope for this story after all!

Anyway, so now we're more-or-less actually getting somewhere with the plot. However, it still probably won't be until chapter 3 that it gets particularly interesting. I kinda feel like this chapter is not quite up to par with the first one, though. :/ Hopefully chapter 3 will be more fun to write, and thus better in quality.

Something I found out in writing this chapter, though, is that I apparently really enjoy writing Scout's dialogue. I guess I just like writing characters being smart-asses because I myself am a goody-goody-two-shoes. :P (And I also like writing Sniper's dialogue because I'm a hopeless Sniper fangirl. 3)

BTW, thanks so much for your review on chapter 1, Wepul. Your positive comments were just what I needed to get working on this chapter. ;) Brownie points for you.

Team Fortress 2 and All Official Content © Valve

* * *

"We have received additional time," the Administrator commended BLU team for capturing the first control point of the third stage. She then swiftly removed the plug connected to her microphone from one slot and placed it into another almost instantly. "We have lost the control point!" She continued to stare down the various monitors as her mercenaries murdered each other in decreasingly creative ways, but her thoughts were beginning to stray.

_ "What are the chances this plan could horribly backfire? Most of these men aren't overly curious and don't look too hard into things, but those who do...-"_ Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Come in." She turned in her chair to see Miss Pauling step inside and promptly close the door behind her. "Well?"

"Growth stage is going mostly as planned, but it will take some more time. They want to know whether to go ahead with partial system shutdown." Something in Miss Pauling's voice seemed to change, and the Administrator sensed it like a shark sensing blood in the water.

"Don't tell me you're having ethical issues with this, Miss Pauling." The Administrator examined her sharp, claw-like nails with token interest.

"I can't say I'm not, ma'am." Miss Pauling wanted to lie, but knew her employer never held tolerance for dishonesty from others to her, despite how deceitful she herself was.

"And just what makes this morally different from what happens to these men on a regular basis?" The younger woman struggled to find the right words to describe what she was feeling, but was somewhat glad when the Administrator saved her the trouble.

"Exactly. Some lives will be lost, yes, but just think. Others will come into being in the process, Miss Pauling. The positive cancels out the negative, wouldn't you agree?" She found it in herself to nod in pseudo-agreement. The Administrator found her response satisfactory and turned back to face the monitors.

"So yes, proceed with partial system shutdown. You may leave, Miss Pauling."

* * *

BLU team had gathered just around the corner at the final point, which was well-defended by the REDs just outside of their base. This nest always proved to be one of the most difficult to break through across all battlefields, and time was running out. Only thirteen minutes remained from their full ten hours, which included all of their time bonuses, and the team was antsy as their enemy was all the more confident of victory.

"Come on, ladies! We're losing daylight!" Soldier yelled, pointing to the setting sun in the sky. "I'm just about to go on, with or without you sissies."

"Just vone minute, Soldier. I'm nearly charged," Medic replied with his Medigun's beam focused on Heavy, the healing slowly but surely filling the "Übercharge" meter on the side of his Medipack.

"You take so damn long that by the time you've gotten your charge up for one go, the enemy will have already gotten five!" Soldier snapped, but Medic merely ignored him. When the meter finally reached full, a loud whir sounded from inside the Medipack and electricity began to spew from the Medigun's muzzle.

"Good to go!" the doctor said with a thumbs-up gesture to his teammates. Soldier turned and prepared himself to hurtle around the corner, but was quickly stopped by Spy, who had only recently made it to the group after respawning from his last tangle with death.

"Are you so sure zhis idea is going to work, Soldier? I highly doubt Engineer, Sniper, and I will be much use in zhis… so-called 'plan'," he questioned his not-so-stable teammate's strategy with more than a hint of apprehension, despite past experience warning him against it. Soldier froze in place, and then slowly turned to face his offender.

"Are you questioning my authority, Frenchie? Huh?!" He pressed his face threateningly close to Spy's, but the Frenchman budged not an inch, showed no signs of fear. "If you're on this team, you'll do as its leader commands! And that leader is _me_! So you are going to do as I say, or I'll make sure you suffer a worse fate than whatever those filthy REDs could ever to do you! _Understood?!_"

"Fine," was the only word that escaped the confines of Spy's mouth as he noticed his teammates' signals to simply give in. Soldier turned back to the corner and set his stance to barrel straight to the control point. This was probably their last chance to take the point, and it was going to succeed. He knew it.

"Commencing 'Operation Eagle Rush' in three… Two… One! Go!"

On command, Medic unleashed his Übercharge into his teammate and BLU team stampeded towards the point as the REDs revved up their weapons and took aim. BLU had made it halfway across the bridge when a strange sensation hit all the fighters on the battlefield, and some of them dropped their weapons and held their heads in their hands with cries of pain escaping them as a blazing agony ripped mercilessly through their skulls and brain matter; the others remained standing, the feeling quickly passing over them like a mere wave.

"Bloody hell?!" Sniper exclaimed as several of those in front of him stopped, and he then dashed to the aid of the nearest BLU, Engineer, who was doubled over on the ground with his hands clutching his helmeted head as if it were about to explode. "Truckie, what's goin' on?"

"I-I don't-Aaggh-I don't know…! Grrgghh…!"

Scout had failed to stop running in time and bowled straight into Pyro, knocking the already in pain mercenary to the ground as well. The youngest fighter didn't offer to help, only seeming capable of staring.

"Pyro?! What da…?" He looked around him and saw that Medic, even Übercharged, had succumbed to the pain searing through his skull. The metallic blue glow that enveloped him and his partner began to flicker, the Übercharge quickly coming to completion.

"Doctor!" Heavy called to his friend just as the charge ran out. Medic answered with a groan of pain and added one more to the number of incapacitated warriors.

Demoman stumbled to a halt just behind Heavy and Medic and glanced around with an increasing amount of confusion becoming visible on his face. Surely this wasn't the scrumpy taking its toll on him? Nothing like this had ever happened before, and he looked to Spy, who had grudgingly resorted to the support of a wall.

"Spy! What's happenin' to ye?!"

"Why-Why are you not-Rrggh-Affected?"

"I… I don't know. And I'm not the only one." Demoman shakily motioned to those still standing, which included about half of the RED team. BLU was lucky RED had turned to tend to their own collapsed teammates instead of opening fire on their enemies.

"C-Come on, boys…!-Arrgh-Forward!" Soldier called as he picked his rocket launcher from off the ground and struggled to stand. Sniper, Heavy, Scout, and Demoman watched as he gained his footing and took a few steps forward. "Who's-Rrggh-Who's with me?!"

The unharmed group looked around at their teammates, slowly stirring and picking themselves up from the concrete; the pain seemed to be lightening enough for them to move. It wasn't too long before BLU was back on their feet, even if somewhat unsteadily so, and they were ready to launch their attack once more. The same could also be said for RED, however, and both teams met each other's visibly blazing intent for victory with their own.

"Chaaarrrge!" the frenzied patriot valiantly cried, and his fellow mercenaries followed him into the fray. RED took their cue, and their various weapons lit up the dimming gorge with a malicious orange light. BLU's effort did not go unrewarded as several kills were made in that final run, and the RED Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demoman, Spy, and Sniper were sent to the temporary afterlife of Respawn.

However, BLU simply could not break through. The REDs were too strong, their base too well-defended. Every last man clad in blue fell in the final strike and time ran out before Respawn could revive them.

"Hahah! Victory is ours, you scheming, rotten, blue-shirt-wearing scum!" RED Soldier yelled pointlessly to the assortment of bloodied and maimed corpses strewn about the area in front of him.

He then strolled leisurely about and examined each of the heads available for the taking, eventually settling on the one belonging to his BLU counterpart. The corpse had been ripped viciously apart from the waist down by an explosion, which Soldier assumed was his doing, and he laid what remained of it out where the thick, muscular neck was fairly straight. He then brought the edge of his shovel down upon it with gusto, ignoring the blood that splattered all over him as he none-too-cleanly sliced through flesh and bone, and picked his gruesome prize up by the broad chin to look it in its rolled-back eyes.

"You have brought even more dishonor to your pathetic little team, and disgraced the uniform in the process, you useless maggot. And for that, you have paid the ultimate price. Until tomorrow, that is," Soldier derided the dismembered head with a malicious chuckle.

"Soldier! Ve are not going to vait for you much longer! Get your head und come on!" Medic called irritably to him before abruptly turning back into the base to meet up with Engineer. Soldier swiftly found his victim's helmet, unceremoniously placed it in its proper position atop its owner's head, and followed what remained of the team to go home for the night.

"I've got the perfect spot for you in my collection, private. You should be honored."

* * *

At BLU headquarters, all was quiet as the mercenaries began to respawn. By eight o'clock, Respawn had brought Heavy, Scout, and Demoman back to the realm of the living, and they were waiting for the rest of their teammates to join them in the living room. However, something struck all three as odd. Normally when they respawned, everyone felt well-rested, healthy, and sometimes even slightly happy. This time, though, they noted feeling much less pleasant.

"God, dat fight was fuckin' terrible," Scout grumbled as he massaged his sore feet. "Stupid Soldier an' his stupid last-ditch efforts at winnin'… Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

"Scout, do not blame Soldier for loss. He was trying to help, and there was not much else to do," Heavy said tiredly. He was also trying to ease his discomfort with a warm towel wrapped around his shoulders and a half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of him.

"Aye, lad. Do not be a sore loser aboot this," Demoman added as he took a long swig of scrumpy, followed by an almost sickly burp. "We did all we could."

Scout merely gave an irritated sigh and shake of his head as response and proceeded to massage his other foot. Not long after, Sniper trudged through the door, his posture notably slumped and his hand kneading his forehead. He flopped into a chair across from Heavy at the table they had played chess at the previous night, and removed his hat and glasses to better attend to his throbbing headache.

"Blimey, mates. I don't remember Respawn bein' this harsh before."

"Hopefully, da Doc'll be able ta fix us up whenever da hell he feels like _getting'_ here," the Bostonian snapped, now lazily spread out over the small couch.

"Ye're complainin' isn't going to make this go any faster, Scout." Demoman took one last gulp from the bottle, slamming it down drunkenly when he realized it was finally empty.

"Well, I don't particularly _care_. It's a free country. I can complain _all I fuckin' want_, an' dere's _nothin'_ any o' you dumb fucks can do about it!"

"Why do ya insist on actin' like this, Scout? Ya know it's not helpin' the situation at all, and you're only makin' everyone else mad at ya," Sniper countered, his normally plentiful patience nearly running out.

"Because I fuckin' _feel like it!_ Ya got a problem with dat, Sniper?!" Scout rolled off the couch and began mock-boxing with the air. "'Cause I'll take ya on! I'll take ya, Kangaroo Man! And I'll kick ya ass with little ta no effort!" At that, what tiny bit remained of Sniper's patience finally snapped, and he stalked over to the younger fighter, his much taller stature easily putting him intimidatingly over Scout.

"What was that, ya little nance?!" Heavy and Demoman could see that things were about to go downhill very quickly, but did nothing to stop it. They could use some entertainment.

"Ya heard what I said, ya old fart!" Scout was on the tips of his toes trying to match his adversary's height, but to no avail. "Come on, hit me! I dare ya!" Sniper stood deathly still, his flaring nostrils and heaving chest the only hint that he was still alive. He was waiting for Scout to do something really worth hitting him for. "What are ya, fuckin' stupid?! I said hit me!"

When Sniper still didn't move, Scout could hold himself back no longer and punched the Australian, but only hard enough to turn his head; he still stood in the same spot, not knocked off balance in the slightest. Even so, it was what Sniper had waited for. He gave Scout a split second to see the anger in his eyes before he unleashed a whirling punch that laid the boy flat on the floor, clutching his bleeding nose and moaning in pain.

"Owww…! Da fuck, man?! God, dat hurt!" None of the other men felt any sympathy for him.

"Well, ya told me to hit ya, so I did. It's that simple, mate." Sniper flexed his fist and returned to his seat, glad to have gotten most of his frustration out of his system. However, his headache had disappeared during the scuffle only to come back with a vengeance, accompanied by some of his recently-lost irritation. Heavy and Demoman watched Scout as he slowly picked himself up from the floor and went into the kitchen to find something to absorb the blood flowing from his nose, and then turned to the fight's victor.

"Thank ye fer shuttin' him up, Sniper," the Scot said, relieved that he would have a little peace with Scout gone; Heavy shared his sentiments and thanked his savior as well.

"Da, many thanks." Sniper merely replied with a nod and placed his hat over his face in an attempt to nap while waiting for the others.

* * *

The match long over and Respawn done with its work, the Administrator examined the revival logs on one of her many monitors, skimming through the last respawn times for each of her mercenaries, RED and BLU alike. She checked off every time from that day, ensuring that all had gone according to plan, and grinned slyly at her success so far. She then pressed and held a button on her microphone, waiting for the intercom to connect her with the team of scientists slaving away on her project.

"Yes ma'am?" Static leaked through the speaker on the wall as the male voice that answered her finished his reply.

"I do believe I was told growth stage was to be completed tonight?"

"Yes, the project will be ready for viewing within the hour, ma'am. We also would like to report that the results have been unanimously deemed highly satisfactory by the team."

"I hope you haven't forgotten that it doesn't matter what _you_ deem satisfactory, Mr. Walker. If you fail to impress me, the lot of you will be promptly handed your pre-prepared pink slips." She was met with nervous silence from the other side of the intercom. "Be ready to present your work to me in one hour. See you soon, gentlemen." Silence once again greeted her ears, and she relished the unsettling effect she had on her scientist. Ah, what fun it was to get inside the minds of others.

But that was beside the point. The project seemed to be going well, and it was nearly time for the next step, which would likely yield the most interesting results. Oh yes, integration phase was going to be something to watch.

* * *

"Do you not think it is time for others to be arriving?" Heavy asked his teammates after about thirty minutes had passed. It was more than enough time for their next teammate, or even two of them, to be respawned, and everyone, including Scout, took notice of it.

"Yeah, it is. In fact, I think someone should've come along about fifteen minutes ago," Sniper replied after doing the calculations quickly in his head.

"This is startin' to get just a wee suspicious, wouldn't ye lads say?" Demoman added, his second bottle of scrumpy sitting half-empty on the table.

"No kiddin'," Scout said as he removed the small wad of tissue paper that had previously taken up residence in his left nostril, and then chucked it into the nearby trashcan after confirming that his nose was no longer bleeding. His entire nose was red and irritated, however, and a purple bruise was forming on his left cheek, complete with minor swelling. It was safe to say that he was getting increasingly frustrated at Medic's absence and all the more sensitive to every minute that passed as his wounds went untreated.

"I'm startin' to get a little worried, mates. Do ya think maybe this has anythin' to do with the incident today?"

"I am thinking it does, Sniper."

"Aye."

Everyone silently waited for another twenty minutes, desperately hoping to see another member of their team step through the door, but no one ever came. It finally hit them that something was really and truly wrong, and they had no real idea of how to fix it. However, it didn't take long for one of them to stand and take the initiative.

"Come. Let us go look at Respawn machine," Heavy said as he stepped outside of the living room. The others quickly followed suit, but not without hesitation; each of them knew their hopes of fixing the problem were slim, with those of them that respawned being some of the least technology-savvy of the team; but they had to try for the sakes of their seemingly-lost teammates.

When inside the station, the four men gathered warily around the black cabinet containing the Respawn machine. Everything looked as it normally did. Demoman was the first to make his move and try to open the door, but found to his group's dismay that it was locked. Scout propped his hands on his hips in frustration and shot a dirty look at Respawn's container.

"Well, dat's just _perfect_. Anybody got a key?"

"I suspect there's a key around here somewhere, so everybody start lookin'," Sniper directed as he began to search the sides of the cabinet. They spread about the room, examining every nook and cranny, every available surface, and under and around every computer for the elusive key, but found not a trace of it.

"Say, wouldn't Engineer have a key to this thing?" Demoman asked.

"Where da hell do ya think dat pack rat'd keep it? In his room? His garage? His pockets? Hell, his Dispenser? Way too many places for dat guy ta keep his crap. Tryin' ta find anythin' dat belongs ta him is like tryin' ta find a Spy in ya team when he's actually hidin in da rafters," the Bostonian griped, the last part of his statement having root in personal experience. "Nothin's eva where ya think it'd be. One time, I even found his wrench in da freezer. Still no idea how it got in dere."

"Lovely story, Scout, but that's not particularly important right now." Scout merely shrugged at the Australian. "However, ya are right about his scattered brain. That key's gonna be pretty much impossible to find since Truckie's in charge of it." He pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed their luck so far. "Maybe we should go ahead a-"

He was interrupted by the horrendous creak of bending metal, and turned to see Heavy unceremoniously working the cabinet door away from its frame, revealing the machinery concealed within.

"… Well… I suppose that'll do," Demoman commented with a hint of surprise.

"You see? Keys are for little baby man." The Russian tossed the distorted door over to the side, taking no care to avoid hitting anything.

"Ha. Tell dat ta our weapon suppliers."

They leaned in together to get a good look at the machine, but the flashing lights, various buttons, and colored wires made absolutely no sense to any of them. After about a minute of examination, Scout worked up the courage to reach in and press a bright green button, but had his hand slapped away by Sniper before his finger could connect with it.

"You don't know what that does, so don't touch it."

"Oh, like _you _know what it does."

"I never said I knew what it did."

"Well, if we don't have any idea how ta work dis thing, what da hell are we doin' down here lookin' at it?"

"Tryin' to see if there was somethin' obviously wrong with it. A loose wire, a broken switch, somethin' simple like that."

"I seriously doubt somethin' like dat would make our teammates not respawn."

"We'd never know unless we looked."

* * *

The Administrator stood silently as the scanner on the wall scrutinized her, taking only a moment to confirm her presence and unlock the door. She stepped through and it slowly closed behind her as she stalked down the hallway leading to the laboratory. The strong scent of chemicals made itself known, but the visitor didn't flinch, merely continuing on her way with her usual unshakable demeanor.

She met Mr. Walker, a rather rat-like man, unhealthily thin and seemingly always bent over as if to hide a precious treasure concealed within his chest, standing watch at the door to the laboratory. He greeted his employer with a small bow and wasted no time in opening the door for her.

"Good to see you this fine night, ma'am. We have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, and I dare say the projects would be too, were they conscious." He was visibly excited, and that only served to irritate the Administrator as they entered the lab, which was little more than a chaotic arrangement of desks, papers, shelves, equipment, and computers at first glance, the other researchers scattering about like cockroaches.

"Mr. Walker, I should not need to remind you to watch your incessantly-running mouth. You know your voice grates on my nerves." The boffin shrunk away slightly at the insult, but continued to hastily lead her into the heart of the laboratory.

He expertly navigated around the labyrinth of desks and computers, and within minutes had reached their destination. They were now in a larger, more spacious part of the test center, and the floor was relatively empty at the moment compared to the rest of the research wing. The far wall, however, was lined with nine large tubes that extended from the floor to the ceiling. They were filled with a bright green fluid and machinery surrounded the tubes at both top and bottom, but the experiments suspended within each one were the only objects of real interest to the Administrator.

She examined the contents of the containers with great interest, looking each experiment up and down with a critical eye. Mr. Walker grew more nervous with each moment that passed as she scanned the products of his team's hard work, and his heart pounded madly when she finally finished and turned to him.

"Congratulations, Mr. Walker. Your work has indeed… impressed me." She was hesitant to give him that word of praise.

"R-Really?"

"You heard me the first time. When will you be able to wake them?"

"Oh, we will decant them very soon, ma'am! Just a few last-minute tests and they will be ready!" He could scarcely hold his excitement, but managed to keep it barely under control for the sake of his employment.

"Good." At that, she took her leave and began to make her way back to her office. It wouldn't be too long before her mercenaries would call upon her for help, and she needed to be there to avoid suspicion and to set the next part of the plan in motion.

Everything was going perfectly, and she couldn't prevent a shrewd grin from spreading across her face.

* * *

So how was that, guys? It wasn't _too_ bad, was it? If it _was_ good, remember to review, fave, or follow! Feedback is my biggest incentive to continue this story, so if you want to see more from me, make sure to leave something in return!

Thanks for reading so far, guys. I love you all. 3


	3. Chapter 3

Oh hey, look at this! The story's not dead quite yet! And it has a cool new title, to boot!

I'm terribly sorry about the lack of updates on this story. Shortly after I posted the second chapter, I saw Wreck-It Ralph (absolutely amazing movie, Disney better make a sequel) and got a little too distracted for this story's good, with the first page or so of this chapter sitting around unfinished. And then a couple of weeks after that, my computer decided to get a bunch of viruses and whatnot. So let's just say that I've been having more than my fair share of computer troubles lately (and during my Christmas vacation, too!) and leave it at that.

**~ Response to Reviews Time! :D ~**

Wepul – Thanks for continuing to support this story. Well, I'm very happy to know that I'm not getting OOC. I try to avoid it as much as possible, since stories that get too far out of character annoy the piss out of me.

CerebrallyPerpetual – Aw, I'm sorry about that. :c Admittedly, I took out some of my favorite classes as well. Thank you very much! I do sometimes get disappointed at how many stories I see that have interesting premises, but are just so horribly written that I can't stomach them. I know, she's pure evil. LOL

Guest – Thanks. :3 You'll be happy to know that I've changed the genre because the romance won't really come into play until we get into about the second year of the story's timeline. There _will_ still be some fluff in the first year, particularly towards the end, but not real _romance_, per se. Gotta really develop the relationships so we don't get all OOC and such. I might change it back to romance when we get to the appropriate point in the story, though, since the romance is kinda important to the plot. :B

I really hope this chapter will have been worth the _weight_. c': Enjoy!

Team Fortress 2 and All Official Content © Valve

* * *

After as much examination and tinkering as their confidence would allow, the four men grudgingly abandoned their attempt to bring back their teammates on their own. They agreed that it was finally time to call the Administrator for help, and somberly assembled in the conference room, a gray space devoid of all decoration except for nine chairs arranged in front of a camera and television screen.

As the others sat in the centermost three seats, Heavy set the camera to begin recording, turned on the television, and buzzed the Administrator for the emergency video conference. One had previously been scheduled for later that night, but the men could take no more delay; they needed the problem fixed as soon as possible.

Heavy took his seat to the right of Sniper, and the group waited for their employer to show her face on the currently static-filled screen. She quickly answered their call, her visage as condescending as ever.

"Greetings, gentlemen." She took a long draw of her cigarette and expelled the smoke to a hidden area beside the camera.

"I take it you already know about the problem, ma'am?" Sniper returned with no doubt in his mind that she knew. After all, she watched them without respite; all of the men knew she did.

"Yes, Mr. Mundy, I do."

"So what is going to happen? How much damage has been done to Respawn machine?"

"The problem is not that simple, Mr. Maksimov. Simply repairing the physical components of Respawn does nothing to resolve the outstanding issue. Even with Respawn fully repaired and functional, the data of those lost is now in a corrupt and unrecoverable state." The entire team was taken aback at the last statement.

"What… Whaddya mean, 'unrecoverable state'? Are ya sayin' dat… Dat they're…" Scout could feel a lump rising in his throat, despite all efforts to quell his growing worry.

"I am saying that those who failed to respawn are now lost forever."

"Ya can't be serious! Dere's gotta be some way ta bring 'em back! I mean… Dere's just gotta be! E-Everyone always comes back!"

"No, there isn't. I will not repeat myself again, Mr. Ellery." Scout could do nothing but hang his head in shock.

"Does this mean our contracts are terminated? I don't see how we could hold our own against RED with only four of us left to fight," Demoman said, his drunken stupor mostly worn off in the night's solemnity.

"No. Your contracts specifically state that you are to fight as a member of BLU until either your four years of service are complete, or one of the Mann brothers has passed. Neither of those events has occurred, so this situation changes nothing, Mr. DeGroot. The battles will still continue as usual-"

"You're sending only the four of us out to fight against however many RED still has?" Sniper interrupted hastily. "Just like nothin' ever happened?" The others shared his trepidation and growing anger, and the Administrator read it easily on their faces.

"You would do well to let me finish my sentences, Mr. Mundy." All four of the men flinched at her sharp tone. "I know you four would stand no chance on your own, so we are in the process of recruiting new fighters to join you. All battles will be postponed until they are properly settled into the team. Does _that_ solve your issue?" They nodded visibly in response. "Good. I will update you all as needed. Good night, gentlemen." At that, the Administrator's image faded out as the screen powered off.

None of the men could muster enough strength to leave the conference room at that moment, and they all sat in the midst of an unsettlingly loud silence. Demoman glared at the cold floor, Scout hid his face in his hands, Sniper stared blankly at the wall, and Heavy simply lost himself in the blackness behind his eyelids. Despite their coma-like appearances, their minds were swirling with heavy thoughts of death finally becoming a reality for them.

* * *

After what seemed like hours, but was in reality only twenty minutes or so, Scout was the first to pull himself from his stupor and leave the dark room. The others followed suit, but each went his own way. None knew where the others were going, and none cared; each was intent on getting away from his remaining teammates for a moment of solitary peace to gather his thoughts and mourn in his own way.

The youngest member trudged slowly from the conference room to the living room, sliding his hand along the wall as he rounded the corner and stepped through the doorway. The main light was turned off, but he didn't bother to flip the switch, instead finding strange comfort in the soft light of the lamp sitting on the chess table.

He sat and found himself setting the board for a match that wasn't going to take place that night. He had only partaken in the games played nearly nightly once, but had often watched; at the very least, he knew how to set the board. As he finished setting it, he noted something was off; he examined the arrangement of the pieces, scrutinizing each and every one for his hidden error. He carefully turned each piece to make sure it faced the exact direction it should, even finding quirks and imperfections in the pawns to determine some form of front, but it still seemed wrong.

After thinking about it for several minutes, he gave up on the issue and decided that perhaps a game should be played, even if only one person was there to enjoy it. He plucked a black pawn from its row and moved it forward two spaces, and then swapped over to the seat on the white side of the board. He moved a white pawn forward before returning to his original spot, quickly choosing another black pawn to slide across the board. Several turns went this way until he realized that the game was going nowhere; he wasn't trying to make either side win, he was just moving pieces about the board, almost as if he were choreographing some nonsensical dance of black and white.

He couldn't help but return to how something about the pieces was glaringly wrong. He slumped forward and began to twiddle with the white king, twisting the top of the wooden piece between his thumb and index finger and rolling the base about the square it was settled on. He remembered the one time he had played the game with another person, that person being Spy.

It was a ceasefire day, and the living room was empty except for Spy smoking a cigarette at the chess table and Scout watching a random channel back when the TV actually had reception. Scout was laid out lazily on the couch, his gum quickly losing its flavor and his sweaty, bare feet twitching back and forth on the right armrest. Spy noted his teammate's boredom and invited him over for a game of chess. At first, Scout refused, claiming that chess was a game for "old farts and snooty bastards", making it "perfect for Spy, who was both". Scout didn't remember how, but Spy had somehow managed to convince him to play anyway (there was probably a bet involved), and they spent the next hour going over the rules of the game, the specific arrangement of the board, and why Scout couldn't just move his pieces wherever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to. The game they played afterward lasted but a few minutes, the Frenchman handily beating Scout despite supposedly going easy on him. Scout swore that Spy only won because he allowed him to, but still vowed that he would never play another game of chess as long as he lived, and promptly ran off to find somebody willing to play some form of physical sport with him.

As he finished reliving the memory in his mind, he looked at the seat across from him. To his surprise, it was no longer empty: there was Spy, smoking a cigarette and quietly choosing which piece to move next. Scout's jaw dropped and he stood up in disbelief.

"Spy? I-Is dat you, buddy?" Spy didn't react, still staring down at the board, his chin in his hand. Scout let out a small, wary chuckle. "I-I knew it. You, uh, ya had a Dead Ringer on ya, didn't ya? Heheh. I knew ya wouldn't just die on us like dat. It's just not like ya to die…"

He reached for his teammate's shoulder, but his hand passed right through. Scout flinched, nearly knocking over the lamp as he withdrew his hand, but he calmed down and quickly realized that the Spy he was seeing was not real, not even a ghost; rather, he was a memory. As Scout watched him, he finally realized what his mistake was: he had swapped the places of the king and queen. The Bostonian swiftly switched them into their rightful places and was hit with a strange sensation as he took in the perfectness of the scene in front of him: here he was, playing one last game of chess with Spy, and all the pieces were finally right. Spy moved and placed the black knight into a new position, marking the continuation of the game. Scout gave his friend a smile as he picked a pawn and pushed it forward.

"I think I'll let you win this time too, Lucien." He could've sworn Lucien had smiled back at him.

* * *

The door to the Med-Bay creaked open as Heavy made his way inside. He knew his friend's pets would need feeding, so he took it upon himself to ensure the eccentric German's precious rats were given their daily meal until something could be done with them. He hoped that one of the new recruits wouldn't mind taking care of a pack of rodents, but he didn't want to think about the replacements for too long. After shutting the door behind him, he turned on the lights and watched where he placed his feet as he walked to the doctor's bedroom, making sure that no fluffy white ball found its way underneath him. He had been to the Med-Bay often enough for Medic's rats to see him as a friend, and they sometimes did crawl around his feet like they did their owner.

This time, though, the rats were nowhere to be seen. Heavy maneuvered around the desk, taking care to not knock any papers from atop it, and slowly pushed open the bedroom door. The doctor's bedroom was not as familiar to him as the rest of the Med-Bay, considering that even close friends tended to stay out of each others' bedrooms, but he knew it well enough to tell that the cage was on the table next to the door.

After flipping the bedroom light switch on, Heavy looked into the cage to see that most of the snow-white rodents were inside, despite the open door. He found the bag of food on a shelf beside the cage and filled up the rats' bowl, causing one of the missing pets to join its companions inside the cage. He then procured the water bottle from its stand and refilled it, bringing in two more rats. After counting heads, the Russian noted one missing rat and promptly began searching for it. It didn't take him long to find Socrates, distinguishable from the others by a small rip in his left ear, curled up on his master's bed. Heavy set his great hand in front of Socrates, who quickly crawled onto it, and he brought the rodent up to his face to look him in his red eyes.

"I am sorry little friend. Heinz is… Not coming home tonight." The rat tilted his head sideways as he looked up at the giant of a man. "I know you do not understand me," Heavy added with a sigh as he placed Socrates into the cage and closed the gate for the night. "But whatever happens, I am promising that all of you will be okay." Socrates stared at him for a few moments, and then turned to join his cage mates at the food bowl.

Heavy stepped back into the Med-Bay's main room as he shut the door to his friend's bedroom, and leaned over the cluttered desk. He scanned over the papers, his eyes darting back and forth across them as he read only what made the slightest amount of sense to him, which wasn't much. Most of the papers were covered in hastily jotted notes and scribbled diagrams; some of them were written in English, some in German, and still others in a haphazard combination of both languages.

One paper he recognized was a study on the Übercharge: a wrinkled paper featuring a diagram of a heart and the mechanism placed on the hearts of all the mercenaries (or rather the replacement animal hearts stuffed unceremoniously inside of their chest cavities after their original, insufficient hearts had been removed) that allowed Heinz to charge them without instant death befalling them. Heavy knew that the RED Medic was the one who had actually created the original Übercharge, but he also knew to give his friend credit where credit was due: it was Heinz who had tinkered with that original Übercharge to produce the Kritzkrieg's unique charge. Heavy looked back fondly on the day when Heinz convinced him to help him test his new form of Übercharge. Even with their original Übercharge backing them, the REDs didn't know what hit them.

Heavy pulled himself away from the pile of papers before he got too deep into his closest companion's private work, and tramped down the hallway to the waiting room. He had been in this part of the Med-Bay many a time, both as a visitor and as a patient, and knew everything well. In the waiting room, two sets of orange plastic chairs lined the wall and a wooden coffee table sat in the middle of the room. He noted it had been knocked out of place somehow and carefully set it back in the exact center of the room. He then took a quick look into the recovery room to make sure everything was as perfect as he could make it. He made sure each bed was properly made, pushed all of the privacy curtains to the wall, positioned each IV stand at the head of its respective bed, and straightened all of the bedside tables. As his last task before leaving, he completely folded the two wheelchairs present and set them against the wall beside the door.

Finally, he walked into the operating room. He didn't feel incredibly comfortable messing with the things in this room, possibly because it was by far the most chaotic room in the Med-Bay besides the doctor's bedroom. He didn't want to risk disorganizing the place even more than it already was. But then again, it really wasn't disorganized to Heinz; it was his own kind of organization, one that only he knew the ins and outs of. He always knew exactly where everything was, no matter how out of place it seemed to the others. Heavy knew it was best to respect Heinz's peculiarities, and left what was likely his companion's most beloved room intact.

Suddenly, Heavy remembered the doctor's favorite hobby that didn't involve tinkering with bodies: music. He went back to the bedroom and opened the door to a large cabinet at the foot of the bed containing a phonograph, one of Heinz's prized possessions. He opened the drawer below it, pulled out the record on top of the stack, and then set the phonograph to play it. The music that flowed out was a beautiful nocturne, and Heavy recognized it as one of Heinz's favorites; he had even played pieces of it on his violin before. Heavy sat on the bed and closed his eyes as the music surrounded him. Somehow it sounded even more wonderful than usual.

Perhaps this record had some of Heinz still lingering around in it.

* * *

The cold night's wind bit into Demoman's skin as he stepped onto the back porch, prepared to honor that nightly ritual for at least one more time. He had procured six bottles of alcohol from the refrigerator, three bottles of scrumpy for him and three bottles of beer for Soldier, almost purely from habit, and set them on the rickety table that rocked back and forth between the two chairs. He settled down in his usual seat, the right one, and popped the cork out of his first bottle.

"So, Solly. I'd like to ask ye what Heaven's like, but I'm fairly certain the pearly gates won't open for ye. Ach, don't feel bad aboot it, though, lad. I'd say none of us is gettin' in there, so ye're not alone," he said as he took the first swig of the night. "Unfortunately for us, we've done too much killin' in our time. Even though most of it weren't real, it's still killin'."

He didn't want to stay on that morbid topic long, and scratched his chin as he dug around in his mind for a new one. As he took another drink of scrumpy, his mind wandered to his friend's expansive collection of weaponry.

"Hey, since ye're obviously not needin' it anymore, what say ye to lettin' me have that Half-Zatoichi? Ye know mine's not doin' all too well… Kinda been breakin' pieces of it off on RED skulls. Heheh. Last time I checked, ye preferred to use rockets anyway... But if ye're not willin' to part with that, maybe I could convince ye to let me have those Gunboats. I know they're technically not supposed to be mine, but… Ye know, they'd be nice to have. Throw the REDs for a loop, maybe."

He added on a half-hearted chuckle and a sigh. He fiddled with the bottle in his hand, took a drink, and set it on the table. Then, he leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands.

"Ach, what the bloody hell am I doing? Tryin' to talk to dead people... Am I really this sorry?" He heaved a great sigh before turning in the direction of his comrade's seat and continuing. "Well, I suppose I am, Solly. I just… Can't really bring myself to believe that ye're dead. I guess Respawn has softened all of us up. We're so used to comin' back after we die that… Heheh… We're actually upset when someone finally pops their clogs."

The Scot straightened up somewhat in his seat and finished off his first bottle in one great gulp. He placed it at the back of the table and grabbed another drink, holding it for several moments in contemplation before removing the stopper.

"Ye know, I think now would be a good time to stop callin' ye by yer class name… And I know you want to be called '_Jane Doe_' fer whatever reason, but _you_ know that I hate callin' ye that. And since ye're dead and can't do anythin' aboot it, I'm callin' ye by yer real name, Theodore. I don't see why ye hate that name… Well, wait a second. Didn't ye say somethin' about a 'secret identity', or whatever? Ach, like a secret identity matters around here, boyo. Sometimes not even _I_ understand ye."

Demoman downed a large portion of the bottle and dragged his forearm across his mouth, removing any scrumpy trying to take up residence in his facial hair. He was starting to feel the alcohol's effects as he leaned so far back in his seat that he felt himself beginning to slip. He sat for several more minutes in silence, swirling the liquid in the bottle absentmindedly, but eventually found the need to speak again.

"Well, my friend. Our time together has drawn to a close. I know we all have to die at some point, but… But ye were taken far too soon, Theodore," he said with a sniffle as the alcohol really started working. "It was a grand old time, blowin' up REDs and whatnot together, that's fer sure. I say, there better be some scrumpy in Hell, and ye better be savin' it fer me, lad! 'Cause we all know that's where I'm going' when my time comes!"

He set his bottle roughly on the table and grabbed one of the beer bottles, removing the cork and taking a swift drink from it to make it seem like he wasn't the only one drinking that night. He held the beer bottle in one hand and the scrumpy bottle in the other, and lifted them high above his head.

"Theodore, I propose a toast to our friendship! To the brotherhood of bombs and rockets!" At that, he clinked the bottles together. He set the beer bottle back on the left side of the table and took another large drink of his scrumpy.

"Aye, to the brotherhood of bombs and rockets."

* * *

Sniper tiredly climbed the creaking stairs to the bedroom hall, his feet being lifted only barely enough to make it over the steps. When he made it to the top of the staircase, he turned and began making his way to his room at the far end, but stopped when he noticed all of the open doors. The bedroom doors were normally left open, of course, but something was bothering him. There was an unsettling emptiness when he looked into the bedrooms of the deceased, and he wanted to just close the doors, cut off the reminders. So he did.

He moved to Soldier's bedroom door, the closest one besides Scout's, and was greeted by a room that looked like it had been through a tornado, fire, and flood all in rapid succession. There were pieces of shelves, tables, and other furniture arranged in a way that somehow managed to resemble a fort, with magazines scattered about containing either projectile weapons or pornography; the bed was broken with one ripped and stained blanket on it, there was a leak in the corner of the room with an overflowing cooking pot underneath, large holes riddled the wall, and the window was crudely covered with rotting planks and duct tape. Sniper had to admit that Soldier certainly was an interesting character; he managed to make his mental instability an asset to the team, and he would be missed.

After shutting the door, he moved onto the next room, Pyro's. Most would expect a pyrotechnician's room to have been burned to the ground within a week of him moving in, but the room was actually kept in fairly good shape. There were a few scorch marks here and there, but nothing that would deem the room unsafe to live in. Otherwise, the room was rather plain when it came to decoration; there was a small Mexican flag on the wall beside the bed and a large chest of drawers in a corner, which no one had ever looked inside of.

The Australian found himself staring at this room longer than he wanted to, not wishing to seem like he was wallowing in the loss of a friend, but unable pull himself away easily. Pyro had saved him from the enemy Spy countless times, and done it without need of thanks. At first, Sniper didn't always approve of the help, feeling like Pyro believed he couldn't defend himself, but over time he grew to realize that what Pyro was doing was right. Teammates had to watch out for each other, and Pyro was a true team player, always trying his best to help his brothers in arms. Sniper worked to return the favor by watching Pyro's back in combat, but the firebug always continued to save him yet again from some enemy or another that was trying to sneak into his perch; of course, at times he failed, but Sniper appreciated his efforts just the same.

"I'm sorry mate. I really am. You've always saved me, but I just… Couldn't return the favor this time. I hope ya can forgive me, Nacio." He removed his hat from his head and leaned against the doorframe, twisting the knob in silence. "But even if ya don't forgive me, I still just wanna tell ya thanks for everythin' ya ever did for me, and for the team. I don't know how much the others ever told ya thanks, but I'm sayin' it one last time for everyone." He took off his sunglasses and placed them in his pocket. "Thanks mate." Then he replaced his hat and closed the door.

He moved down the hall, passing Demoman and Heavy's bedrooms, and stopping at Engineer's; this room, he couldn't help but step inside. The room was the only thing of Engineer's that he managed to keep neat, likely due to habits formed from having a wife to share a bedroom with back at home. The bed was neatly made, the blankets perfectly taut and the pillows centered exactly. The books in the bookshelf were organized by subject, most of them being about mechanics, physics, or some other subject that Sniper knew he could never even begin to wrap his head around, and in the corner sitting on a stand was the Texan's guitar. Sniper slowly walked over to the nightstand, on which were his Teddy Roosebelt and a framed photograph of Engineer with his wife and children. He picked up the teddy bear and studied its blank face, made even more unreadable by the goggles it wore in imitation of its owner.

Engineer had told him that the bear was a gift from his children to him when he left home to work for BLU, and that it was his prized possession; he said that it was often the only thing that kept him fighting, because seeing it reminded him that he was providing for his family, and that one day he'd get to come home. Sniper felt a pang in his chest and set the bear back on the table.

"Damn it, Dell…"

His eyes met the smiling face of the Dell in the photograph, as happy and carefree as could be with his wife at his side and his children sitting in his arms. The Dell in that photograph, the Dell he knew as a best friend… They were both gone, and soon to be replaced by some sap who probably just enlisted into BLU to get rich as soon as the job was available without having any idea what he had really signed up for. But Sniper wouldn't feel sorry for him. He had made the same stupid mistake, after all. Unable to be visually reminded of his friend anymore, he placed the photograph face down.

"Richard, what are ya doing? You're an assassin. You're not supposed to act like this. Feelings are not for professionals, they're for blokes what bludgeon their wife to death with a golf trophy, and you bloody well know that," he scolded himself before sighing. "This is why you don't get attached to people." He turned to leave, but stood in place for several moments before removing his hat again.

"Dell, I… I'm sorry this happened to ya. You were my best mate, and I know your family loved ya… You're gonna be missed, mate." He stepped out of the room and prepared to shut the door. "Good bye, Truckie."

After shutting that door, he ignored Spy's perpetually-closed door (which was never opened except by Spy himself), ready to sleep and try to forget the day's depressing events, even if only temporarily. Finally in his own room, he quickly changed into his nightwear and collapsed on his bed, but sleep did not find him as quickly as he would have liked.

* * *

OK, so this wasn't _exactly _what I had planned on writing originally in this chapter. I actually intended to reveal the Administrator's project, but wound up writing a sad, further-establishing-relationships-and-studying-characters chapter instead. I hope you guys don't mind. LOL But hey, I actually did reveal _something_: some names! That's good enough for now, right? But I promise, big reveal next chapter for sure! ;)

I think this chapter turned out having some pretty bittersweet moments in it that I was impressed with myself for writing. I definitely spent a lot of time listening to "Window" by The Album Leaf when writing the majority of this chapter to help me get in the appropriate mood. However, I actually listened to_ Titanic_ music when writing Demoman's scene, not because of romance but rather because of emotional bagpipes (derp :B). I really hope none of this comes across as romantic, because as I've said, this is not a slash story. In my opinion, the mercs' general relationship can be described as "Brothers, Not Lovers". So if you're hoping for _any_ sort of slash in this story whatsoever, get out now. Sorry.

A little bit of forward thinking here, but I am actually considering splitting this story up into four "books" because it's so expansive. How does that idea sit with you guys? Is it too much? Leave me your two cents (or more, if you are so inclined).

Like always, please remember to review, fave, or follow! Feedback is my biggest incentive, so I need more to keep writing! Please? *Cue Sniper's Boi Faic*


	4. Chapter 4

I think I'm kinda starting to get back into the groove of this fic, now. This chapter was probably one of the most entertaining to write so far, purely because of two characters' dialogue. (I guess I'm kinda doing a bit of a mood whiplash here. Last chapter was sad and dark, and this one has some funny bits.)

**~ Response to Reviews Time ~**

Wepul – Once again, I must thank you for being my most faithful reviewer. Here, have some more brownie points. LOL Well, I kinda did and kinda didn't. It's a little hard to explain without spoiling the story. XD Thank you! I tried hard to make it seem like the mercs were pretty close-knit, or at least some of them. Yeah, I get really tired of seeing slash story after slash story when trying to find something good to read. :/ (I'm sorry to any slash-readers/writers that might be reading this story. I don't mean to be offensive or anything like that, slash just isn't my thing and I often feel like it gets shoved down my throat with the sheer amount of it that exists.) I might just wind up writing the first year and seeing exactly how much content that takes up. If it's big enough, I might make the split then. Thank you! 3

Xguy110 – Because I like drama! XD Well, I must say that I'm very flattered that you think this is the best story ever.

TheKidWithFluff – Oh yes, IRL friend that read and reviewed only because I told him to. That was totally what I wanted when I asked for a helpful review. XD *Sigh* You're hopeless.

Maybe if the last chapter wasn't worth the _weight_, this one will be? :'D *Gets smacked for using that joke again*

Team Fortress 2 and All Official Content © Valve

* * *

"Careful with the experiments! If you drop them or bang them up in the slightest, the Administrator will have all of our heads on a platter!" commanded Walker from his overlook as the other scientists warily went about the rather demanding work of decanting their employer's projects.

"Hey, just shut it Walker. If you're so worried about this, then why don't you come down and help us out?" asked a gangling, blonde scientist as he and four others carefully lifted the first experiment out of her tube and laid her out on a waiting metal table.

"What? Me? Get my hands dirty with all of that disgusting solution? I don't think so, Lakely. The Administrator put _me_ in charge for a reason," he retorted.

"And just what is that reason? I highly doubt it's because of your_ remarkable_ intellect," said another scientist sarcastically, this one short and wearing a pair of incredibly thick glasses.

"As a matter of fact, I happen to be by far the most intelligent one among you nitwits, Cash. Now get back to work before I alert the Administrator."

"Yeah, right," Lakely muttered under his breath. After securing the first experiment to the table, he unlocked the table's wheels and made his way to the right side of the laboratory with her in tow. "You know as well as we do that telling her what we're 'doing wrong' will get you in trouble as well, idiot," he called to Walker before stepping through a door into what appeared to be a hallway in a hospital.

The walls were a creamy off-white color, the floor a smooth and reflective green tile; bright lights were placed at regular intervals down the passageway and closed doors lined the walls, complete with the occasional water fountain or nurse's supply cart. Lakely pushed the table down the hallway for about a minute or so before reaching his destination, and impatiently rapped on the door when he found it was locked.

"Come on, Patterson. Why is the door locked?" He was quickly answered by an exclamation of surprise from a voice muffled behind the door.

"Oh, there you are Lakely! I was wondering when you'd get here," answered a female voice as the doorknob shook about in its socket. She was evidently having issues unlocking the door.

"I'll repeat myself. Why is the door locked?"

"Well, it kind of locked on its own when I closed it. I've been working at it for a bit now, but still haven't managed to unlock it. I was hoping maybe you could help me out?" Lakely smacked his forehead with his hand.

"I can't believe you locked yourself in. And you call yourself a scientist."

"Oh, don't say things like that. They're not very nice. Look, I have a key, it just apparently won't unlock the door from this side. I'll see if I can pass the key under the door to you, and you try to unlock it from outside. Does that sound good?"

"I don't really think there's much of an option." He crouched down to the floor and grabbed the key the moment it passed under the door, promptly standing again and inserting the key into the lock with a twist. He turned the doorknob and was relieved to find that it was no longer locked, and then pushed it open all the way to be greeted by the sight of his coworker dressed in a nurse uniform, her normally unruly brown hair somehow contained in a bun.

"It worked! Great! I knew you'd be able to help me, Lakely," Patterson said as he stepped into the room, pulling the project behind him. "You didn't even bother to cover her up? I'm a little ashamed at you."

"Oh, come on. She's not conscious, so she'll never remember this. None of them will." He pulled the table up next to a waiting tub already filled with water and began to unstrap the experiment. Patterson stepped beside him and began to help, as the straps were proving difficult to pull off when glued to the project's skin by the solution covering her.

"But still, it's not very respectful of her privacy."

"Like I care about respecting some modified clone that's a product of one of that woman's schemes."

"So you plan on taking out your frustration at the Administrator on these poor girls?"

"Maybe I am. Can't really go after the lady herself."

"Well, how is it _their_ fault that they are what they are? They didn't ask to be this way. Have a heart, Lakely." The straps removed, the scientists gently lifted the unconscious girl off the table and into the tub. Patterson rolled up her sleeves, plucked a washcloth and bar of soap from the bucket beside the tub, and began to scrub the drying, sticky liquid off the girl's body. Lakely turned back to the table and prepared to leave.

"So what if they didn't _ask_ to be this way? The fact of the matter is they _are_… And the future doesn't exactly look bright for them. You know how the Administrator acts when it comes to things that she owns." The room was silent except for the swishing of water and the humming of lights. "She doesn't like letting them escape the underside of her thumb." Finished arguing with Patterson, he pushed the table out the door and back into the hallway. When back in the laboratory, he saw that the others had already nearly decanted the second project.

"What took you so long, Lakely? Don't tell me you were spending quality time with Patterson," taunted Walker from his viewing perch with a cackle.

"Only if getting her out of a room she locked herself into like an idiot counts." Lakely wheeled the table over beside the second tube and helped lift the woman onto it. Then he turned around and pushed the table back towards the hospital.

"Don't take so long this time, alright Lakely? Or I'll have you fired for fraternizing," Walker cried after him. Lakely ignored the rat-like man and continued on his way.

* * *

Patterson sighed as she tossed the second bar of soap and ninth washcloth into the bucket after bathing the last experiment. She carefully pulled her out of the tub, thankful that she was not incredibly muscular like some of the others had been, and laid her on a waiting towel. Patterson grabbed another one from the stack beside the bucket and set to work drying the unconscious woman off.

"I don't know why I didn't get any help with this," she mumbled. When the towel had done its work and the woman was dry, Patterson took the last remaining hospital gown supplied to her and worked the woman into it, having slight difficulty when she simultaneously had to keep her sitting up.

"Alright. Up we go," Patterson said as she stood with the woman's arm wrapped around her shoulder. The scientist walked her, if that was what it could be considered, slowly over to the last unoccupied bed, and laid her in comfortably. Patterson stepped back and looked over each of the beds and their occupants, double-checking that all was ready for the next step, and sighing with relief when she confirmed that her job was done for the moment. She started to turn towards the door, but stopped halfway around and hung her head, a slight grimace on her face and concerned thoughts running through her mind. It was times like this that having a conscience made being a scientist, especially one working for someone like the Administrator, a more difficult task than it should've been.

"I'm sorry ladies. I wish you didn't have to go through what the Administrator has planned for you… But I guess it looks like you all were just handed life's short straws. I hope you all can make the best of it." She then twisted around and entered the hallway, making off towards the laboratory at a brisk pace.

When she arrived, the other scientists had already removed their fluid-stained gloves and cleaned off their coats. One of them, a deceptively fatherly-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard, was preparing himself for his next role with a stethoscope wrapped around his shoulders, a fake name tag clipped to his coat's breast pocket, and a pair of shiny black shoes laced neatly on his feet.

"You look very doctorly, Green," Patterson remarked.

"Why thank you, Patterson. You make a good nurse, yourself," he returned, his interest purely token. Walker slinked over to the two, eager to continue with the project.

"So, my wonderfully-disguised 'medical staff'… I take it the experiments are ready to be awakened? They are properly dressed and the hospital setting is flawless?" His giddiness was unsettling to Patterson, but she didn't let it show.

"Yes, Walker. We're ready to move on."

"Good. I'm sure you know that the Administrator will be here for the next step, so-"

"Actually, she will not be joining you tonight," interrupted a female voice. The scientists all turned to face the direction of the interruption, and were greeted by the sight of Miss Pauling striding towards them, a clipboard in hand.

"Oh… Miss Pauling... And just why is _she_ not coming?" inquired Walker, irritable at not being able to personally share his achievements with his employer.

"She simply feels the need to continue her watch on the men to ensure they don't do anything… Regrettable… So she sent me in her place. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Walker."

"Oh no, _not at all_," growled Walker sarcastically.

"Then let's get going, shall we? The Administrator is expecting this to go as promptly as possible, and no one here wants to disappoint her, I'm sure."

"But of course... Right this way..." The head scientist stalked towards the 'hospital' with Miss Pauling, Green, Patterson, and two other scientists in tow. The trip to the room where the women lay sleeping was done in near silence with the only sounds coming from shoes clicking on the tile floor, but that clicking echoed and rang out the awkward silence between them all. Upon stepping inside their destination, Walker resumed control and spoke for the first time since leaving the laboratory.

"Before we awake them, we need to get them sorted into the proper rooms. We must keep them separated to keep everything as inconspicuous as possible," he stated matter-of-factly as he began digging about in his pockets for the document separating the experiments into either RED or BLU. Upon discovering that the paper was in neither of his coat pockets, he began a more frantic mode of searching, excavating his breast pocket and each of his pant pockets hastily in his mad search for the elusive document.

"Well… It, uh, seems that I have… Misplaced my list… I'll just, um… Davis! Run back to the lab and find that paper! It's probably, uh, in my desk… Somewhere," he commanded a chubby red-headed scientist, who nodded quickly in response. Before he could reach the door, however, he was stopped by Miss Pauling.

"We don't have enough time, so don't bother with it. I can sort them for you," she said as she looked each of the women over for identifying characteristics. "This one, this one, this one, and this one are all on RED," she concluded, pointing out the four women who corresponded with the men lost on RED. "The rest, obviously, are on BLU."

"Thank you _oh so very much_ for your assistance, Miss Pauling," Walker spat. "Well, you heard her. Get those four over to the RED room. Then come back and make another trip for BLU."

The four scientists complied and each pushed a bed out the door, further down the hallway, and around a corner to the right. The second hallway looked much like the first, and the room where RED's future combatants were to be settled was nearly at the end of it. After ensuring that each bed was placed in the proper position, the scientists returned to the room where Walker and Miss Pauling were waiting with the BLUs. Each of them again pushed a bed out the door, but with five BLUs and only four scientists, one was left behind.

"Are you not going to help, Mr. Walker? I don't think she's going to get there on her own," Miss Pauling said, almost mockingly. Walker grudgingly pushed the final BLU out of the room, despite his rather feeble build making pushing the muscular woman difficult, and Miss Pauling followed him and the others down the hallway, but this time turning to the left. Again, the room was at the end of the hallway and the beds were carefully arranged once inside to help further the illusion of being properly cared for in a real hospital.

"Alright… Now that the heavy-lifting is done… We must… Whew… Wake them," Walker uttered through his gasps for breath. "Teller… You have the, uh… The injections, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," replied a black-haired scientist slightly less frail than Walker as he withdrew a package from his satchel. "Here you are, Doctor." He handed it off to Green, who opened it to reveal nine small syringes filled with a cloudy gray substance.

"Okay. Teller, Davis, get out of here now so we can get a move on. You two aren't dressed as medical staff, so you'll break the illusion," Walker ordered, mostly recovered from his exhaustion.

"You do realize that_ you're_ not dressed for the part either, right?" Miss Pauling pointed out, beginning to grow weary of the rat-man's idiocy.

"Are you saying that the head of this project, appointed by the Administrator _herself_, should not be here to witness this critical stage of development?" Walker was starting to reach the end of his patience with Miss Pauling. He knew he had to stay calm, since she was the Administrator's assistant and easily able to get him fired, but she was grating on him terribly and made staying calm difficult.

"Not when he doesn't take enough care to ensure that something as simple as his appearance doesn't ruin such an important project. So I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room unless you want me to report this to the Administrator. Your choice, Mr. Walker."

"Why you…!" Walker could feel a shout coming on, but barely managed to keep it contained for the sake of his employment. He stalked out of the room in a huff, slamming the door behind him, and plastered his face to the window to make sure he at least got to watch. Then, to his further infuriation, Miss Pauling promptly pulled the shutter down, cutting him completely off from the room. Needless to say, he could no longer contain his anger and began to take it out on Teller and Davis up and down the hallway.

Glad to have Walker gone, Miss Pauling took a seat in a dark corner and watched as Green plucked the first syringe from the package and moved to the bed of the nearest woman. He injected her with the solution, which began its work by healing the puncture wound left by the needle. After tossing the empty syringe into the biohazard box mounted on the wall, he procured another syringe and injected the next woman. The process repeated until all five of the women had been given the stimulation injection, and the remaining syringes were carefully wrapped back in the package and placed into his coat pocket. Within minutes, the women began to stir, each moving around and occasionally moaning sleepily. Miss Pauling pulled a pen from her pocket and jotted a few small notes onto her clipboard, quickly looking back up to watch with interest.

The first to finally rouse was the eldest woman, with pale skin and thin, sharp features. Her black hair was thick, streaked with gray at the temples, and fell to the middle of her shoulder blades, while her eyes were slate in color and filled with vitality despite her apparent age. Her face took on a highly confused aspect upon looking around the room, her eyes squinted tightly; she didn't appear to notice Green, Patterson, or Miss Pauling, even when directly looking at them, however. After a few moments of trying to take in her surroundings, she finally spoke.

"Ach… Vhere are mein glasses…? I can't see a zhing," she muttered with a thick German accent as she began feeling the bed around her and the surface of the nightstand nearby. Miss Pauling nudged Green and handed him a pair of glasses she had tucked away in her pocket. She had a feeling that the team had likely forgotten about the original Medic's sight issues and brought a pair with her just in case her intuition was correct, which it turned out to be. Green grabbed the clipboard on the wall, which listed information about each of the women, straightened his stethoscope, and cleared his throat, ready to exercise his acting skills.

"Ah, so good to see you finally awake, Ms. Schulz." At the sound of his voice, she jumped slightly and twisted hastily to face the direction of his voice, attempting in vain to make sense of the blurred shape she was seeing."I'm terribly sorry I forgot to put these on your table beforehand," he said with a good-natured chuckle as he placed the spectacles in her hand.

"Oh, zhank you," she replied, gratefully sliding the glasses on. Now able to clearly see her surroundings, she seemed just as surprised as before; she recognized neither the place, nor the people, nor the hospital gown she was wearing, and was appropriately confused.

"Vhy am I… In a hospital?"

"It's a bit of a long story, ma'am. Could I convince you to wait until the others wake up so that you can all hear the story at once? They should be up soon."

"Zhe ozhers…?" She finally noticed the other occupants of the room, but despite something in the back of her mind nagging that something was familiar about them, she couldn't place anything in particular. She started to say something, but stopped when another woman slowly sat up, her hand massaging her forehead. She had deep brown, almost chestnut hair approximately the same length as the German woman's, and her skin was an average shade, neither pale nor tan. She was easily the shortest of the women and fairly stocky as well; her hands were tough, evidence of the hard work done by the original mercenary.

"Heavens to Betsy… What in the world happened to me?" She looked up, revealing her light blue eyes, and inspected the room to find answers, but was as equally startled by them as the first. "A hospital…?" She discovered Green and Patterson standing near the German woman's bed, and looked all three of them over with a raised eyebrow. "I really hope I ain't interruptin' anything but does anybody mind explainin' exactly why I'm in here?" Green glanced at his list for a brief moment before handing it over to Patterson and answering.

"So nice of you to join us, Ms. Woodham. As I just said to Ms. Schulz here, all will be explained shortly. We're just waiting on the others."

As if on cue, the third woman rose from her slumber. This one was rather heavily muscled, especially for a female, and had shoulder-length blonde hair that tended to curl upwards in a wild fashion. Her dark blue eyes scanned the room and locked onto the doctor, nurse, and two sitting patients, who all felt immediately unsettled under her intense gaze.

"You! Doctor! You are going to explain to me at this very instant why I am being kept here and what all kinds of sick experiments you have done to my body, you pathetic excuse for a man!" She threw her feet over the side of the bed and prepared to stand, much to Miss Pauling, Green, and Patterson's worry.

"No, Ms. Quincy!" Patterson cried as she and Green rushed over to stop the woman, the other two women simply staring confoundedly.

"You can't stand just… Yet," Green added, but trailed off and came to a stop when he saw that she was already standing.

"Ah-ha! So that's what you mad Communist scientists did! You captured me and tried to replace my legs with broomsticks! I knew it! But as you can see, it didn't work! I am of too strong of will to allow my legs to be chopped off and replaced with household objects, awake or asleep!" She attempted to take a step towards Green and Patterson, but her legs buckled underneath her and she collapsed to the floor with a shout. "Gagh! What?! What happened?!"

"If you had taken the time to listen to us, you would've learned that your legs are too weak to stand just yet, and you could permanently injure yourself trying to. And we did _not_, by any means, attempt to replace your legs with broomsticks. We did nothing with them at all, as a matter of fact." Green was astounded that anyone, mentally unstable or not, could ever be so incomprehensibly stupid.

"Well if you did nothing to them like you say, then why the hell am I in a '_hospital_' with legs that won't work?" She stared at him from the floor with such malicious scrutiny that he wanted to do anything but go and help her back into her bed. Unfortunately, that was what he was required to do.

"If you can wait for just a _few_ more minutes, the others should be waking up soon. When everyone is conscious, we will explain _everything_ to you. Now. Will you allow us to help you back into your bed _without_ you wringing our necks?"

"Sorry Quackers. No explanation, no guaranteed safety. And besides, I don't need your help just to get back into a bed." At that, she grabbed the frame of her bed and easily pulled herself back onto it purely using the strength of her arms. Patterson and Green were impressed with the woman's strength, but Miss Pauling expected it. She was a Soldier, after all. "See? I'm not the helpless little damsel you Commies seem to think I am."

"I don't know where in the world you got the idea Ms. Quincy, but we are not Communists. We are-"

"How the hell do you know my name?!" She interrupted Patterson, evidently not noticing the first time she was called by name.

"Erm, it was in the information provided to us through your employer."

"Employer?! I don't have an employer that knows that name! In fact, I don't have an employer at all except myself! You Commies aren't very good at seeming unsuspicious, are you? You're lucky I need you for information, because when I was in the military we gleefully murdered suspicious people like you just for looking at us funny! Which happened to be _every time they looked at us_!" Green and Patterson were about to take another attempt at calming the crazed woman, but were saved the trouble when a French-accented shout drew everyone's attention.

"Will you _please_ stop screaming, you imbecile? You are getting zhe rest of us, along wizh yourself, nowhere in garnering an explanation." She had apparently been awake for at least a few minutes, and was leaning guardedly against her bed's headboard. Her brunette hair was notably wavy and cut shorter than the others', and her cold, navy blue eyes flitted warily about, studying each of the room's other occupants thoroughly. Her small hands were folded in her lap, and her pale face held a deadpan expression, indecipherable by those who saw it.

"Thank you, Ms. Gravois. Only one more left, and you all will have your explanation," said Patterson with a relieved sigh. They waited in a strained silence for another few minutes before the fifth and final woman awoke. She was immediately visually distinct from the other four, being Hispanic with short black hair and dark brown eyes, and was only slightly taller than the Texan woman. She looked around her with curiosity, examining the room and the other people about her.

"This is strange," she finally remarked quietly with a notable Spanish accent.

"Great! Now with Ms. Cruz with us, our company is finally complete," said Green.

"Alright, now get on with the explanation, Quackers. I don't have all day to sit just sit around and play guessing games with you people. A great war heroine like myself has places to be, Commies to behead."

"Right. Well, we have a special person here to explain the situation to you ladies. Miss Pauling?" At Green's signal, Miss Pauling rose from her hidden spot in the corner from which she had been vigorously taking notes, and stepped towards the center of the room, slightly surprising most of them, who had not noticed her; the French woman was the only one who had already observed her observing them, and eyed her with suspicion that did not go unnoticed.

"Thank you, Dr. Green. Good evening, girls" she greeted in a cheery, amiable manner as she settled on the chair she pulled away from the nearby desk. "I am Miss Pauling, and I am the right-hand assistant to your employer, whom you need only refer to as the Administrator. I know that none of you remember this because of the accident-"

"Accident? What accident?!" interrupted the crazed woman, earning exasperated looks from the other women.

"Please, do let me finish, Ms. Quincy. As I was saying, you are all in fact mercenaries hired by the Administrator to fight for Builders' League United, more commonly known as BLU, to participate in the war against our rival company, Reliable Excavation Demolition, or RED." Some of the women were taken aback at the mention of mercenaries and war.

"Whoa, wait a minute there, honey. You're sayin' that we're all hired guns? I'm sorry, but I don't remember nothin' at all 'bout enlistin' for somethin' like that," said the Texan, a look of apprehension growing on her face.

"Yes, I do believe zhat I vould remember signing up for somezhing like zhat," added the German.

"Hell, I don't know what _you_ ladies are complaining about. Whether I remember signing up for it or not, I'm _all_ for blowin' up some filthy Commies! And maybe some Nazis, too!" replied the crazed woman, causing the German woman to regard her with more than a hint of distrust. "Wait, there _will_ be some Commies to kill, right?"

"Well, there _is_ a Russian, but-"

"Great! I'm in!"

"I wouldn't simply leap headfirst into zhis if I were you, mon ami. Perhaps you should let her finish zhe explanation you were so eager to get," warned the French woman.

"Yeah, I'm wantin' to hear more about this 'accident' before I believe everything I'm hearin'." All of them turned and looked at Miss Pauling expectantly.

"Well, the reason you all don't remember anything about being hired, we're forced to assume, is because the accident happened rather early in your training."

* * *

So here's that big reveal I promised you guys. Is it big enough for now? At least now y'all know what the Administrator's project is! And if you're thinking, "Well, how in the world is _this_ supposed to solve TFi's money issues?" just wait and see. All will become clear… Eventually. Next chapter, possibly. Really, just whenever it's most convenient for me to reveal it.

As you can probably tell, I had way too much fun writing our new Soldier's dialogue. I mean, come on. Broomsticks? What was I thinking? LOL But hey, that's the good thing about writing Soldier's dialogue: you could write almost whatever you wanted and it would be believable because Soldier said it. And I suppose that's also a bit of the reason why I enjoyed writing Walker's dialogue. God, crazy people are fun to write. :B

Something I'd like to say now that some of you may have noticed is that, yes, most of the mercenary OCs have appearances based heavily off of existing fem mods, pretty much simply for the convenience of being able to use those models to accurately represent the characters (at least those classes that fem mods exist of), should I ever choose to make posters and/or animations for this story in SFM. But I suppose this story also serves the purpose of more-or-less explaining how the fems could ever have come about to exist in the game at all, so I do have a bit of an excuse. From the next chapter onward, the creators of their respective fem mods will be given the proper credit in the disclaimer. Despite their appearances not necessarily belonging to me, however, several aspects of them as characters in this story _were_ created by me, so they could still be considered at least my _partial _OCs. So please don't sue me.

However, the scientists _are_ entirely my own creation. I gotta say that I do like several of their personalities (particularly Patterson and Lakely), and don't plan to make all of them throwaway characters, so please don't jump to the conclusion that you'll never get to see them again once I'm through with them here. They'll come back at some point or another. ;)

I know some of you probably get tired of reading this, but please leave some feedback! Reviews are much preferred, but faves and follows are more than welcome as well! Please? *Cue Gaben's Boi Faic since Sniper's Boi Faic didn't seem to work all too terribly well last time*


	5. Chapter 5

OMGWTFBBQ The story still hasn't kicked the bucket yet! It took me much longer than it should've, but I finally cranked out the fifth chapter. Aren't y'all so proud of me? LOL

But seriously, I'm trying to juggle too many projects at once to crank chapters out in a timely manner. I've got this story to write, I have a Nuzlocke run of Pokémon Ruby I'm doing, I'm working on a comic to go with that Nuzlocke run, I'm doing schoolwork, and I'm also working on a little project that has to do with this story (can't tell you guys what it is yet). So forgive me for the delays. I'm just trying to be an overachiever, I guess.

**~ Response to Reviews Time ~**

Xguy110 – Here's your MOAR MOAR MOAR MOAR. XD

TheKidWithFluff – LakelyXPatterson? Mehbeh. You'll just have to wait and see. :P

Wepul – Yes, there most certainly is a greater purpose because the Administrator is such a cold, calculating bitch that she can't do anything for just one simple reason. But I can't tell what the biggest point is yet because I'm a cold, calculating author who must keep holding secrets out in front of her readers to keep them coming back for more. :3 Thanks! Yes, FemSoldier is simply too much fun to write, as you'll read further in this chapter.

Guest – Thanks! Could you possibly clarify where that happened? I read over the chapter and didn't catch an error like that, but I did notice that I forgot to give the Hispanic woman's last name, Cruz, so I went back and added it in.

TheIrishPanda – I'm glad you like it! Maybe it won't take as much reminding to get you and your brother to read this chapter. LOL

Smorgesborg – Glad the story's good enough to have a stalker. XD

Wolffox101 – Thanks! Sorry the wait was longer than I intended. ^^;

Vivid Imaginest – It's sort of like that, yes. I'm glad you like my story! And all answers will be revealed eventually… *Steeples fingers secretively*

Here's to hoping that working on a Nuzlocke when I should be writing didn't make the quality of this story drop significantly. :'D

Team Fortress 2 and All Official Content © Valve

Female Engineer, Medic, and Spy Designs © ChemicalAlia

Female Soldier Design © I-French-Fry

Female Pyro Design and Original Characters © Me

* * *

"Shortly after you all had signed your contracts and been accepted as BLU's newest mercenaries, you were brought to BLU's headquarters. After settling you into your temporary homes, the Administrator gave you each a personal rundown of what was expected of you, and then handed you all to me to begin your training. Each of you passed your basic training with flying colors, and we proceeded to move onto the next stage of training, stimulated combat.

"In stimulated combat, you were all placed into real battlefields as a team and faced real combat circumstances, except that your enemies were, to put it simply, illusions. They could still harm you, and even kill you, but were nowhere near as vicious as real REDs."

"Kill us? We were put in life-threatenin' battles as _trainees_?" The Texan was not happy with the revelation of BLU's apparent mercilessness. It was no wonder they needed new mercenaries if they managed to kill some of them off as early as training. Perhaps this was supposed to be some extreme version of natural selection to ensure only the best of the best made it through to real combat.

"Oh, there was no need to worry. You all had already been registered into the Respawn system, meaning that whenever you died, Respawn would bring you back to life."

"Vait… Did you just say zhat it is actually _possible_ to bring back zhe dead? And zhis 'Respawn system' does zhat every time a mercenary dies?" The German was apparently impressed; it was this sort of morbid science that appealed to her, whether she liked to admit it or not.

"Yes, precisely. It takes a little bit of time to work, but it_ will_ revive you, perfectly healthy and ready to return to the front lines."

"So we get no down time between lives, we just… Come back to life and jump back into the fray?" The job was sounding both better and worse at the same time to the Texan. While it was somewhat comforting to know that she wouldn't be able to truly die while fighting, she still expected death to take some toll on those it temporarily caught off guard; dying obviously is not good for one's health, let alone multiple deaths.

"Yes. After all, you were hired to fight the REDs whenever the Administrator called upon you. But I digress. You had only been in stimulated combat for a couple of days when you were sent to an arena code-named 'Nucleus'. This battlefield is easily recognized by a large nuclear reactor over the center of the arena, but it's normally perfectly safe to be in the vicinity of combat. However, something went wrong the day you happened to be training there.

"We still have no idea exactly _what_ happened, but the reactor exploded without warning, destroying much of the arena and nearly killing all of you in the process. Normally, Respawn would've made your deaths of no real concern, but due to the strange nature of the situation, we decided not to take the risk that something would malfunction when you came back. Considering that you have apparently lost your memories, who knows what would've happened had we allowed you to die and respawn. Since then, we have investigated the explosion and still found no conclusive evidence of a specific cause, and are currently working to rebuild the battlefield." Each of the women were deep in thought as they weighed the believability of the story.

"Answer zhis question for me, Miss Pauling," said the French woman after several minutes of thought. "If zhis… '_Respawn'_ always brings mercenaries back to life, zhen why do you need new ones?" The others again looked expectantly at the Administrator's assistant, the French woman's question one of great concern. Miss Pauling was prepared for this question, however, and didn't slip up under inquiry.

"Well, I suppose I can't say it _always_ revives our mercenaries… Recently, there was a system malfunction with Respawn and we lost several of our men. But this malfunction has never happened before, and we have our very best ensuring that the malfunction does not happen again. So there is no need to worry about it ever failing on you." The French woman didn't seem terribly convinced.

"You seem to be having a lot of malfunctions lately," she commented, her tone venomous with suspicion. "What exactly makes you zhink zhat, whezher your story is true or not, we would all find reason to join you?"

"Simply the reason that you enlisted in the first place," Miss Pauling stated matter-of-factly. "We offered the highest wages any of you had ever seen in your entire lives." She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to the closest woman, the German. "On that paper is the value, in United States dollars, of the starting salary paid to each of you for your service as a member of Builder's League United for four years or until the death of Blutarch Mann, as outlined in your contracts." The German was left speechless at the value written on the slip, and the Texan had to forcefully pull it from her in order to get a look.

"Good gracious," was all that managed to escape her mouth, and she promptly handed it over to the Hispanic as if staring at it for too long would turn the money into a cruel prank. The silent woman's jaw dropped when she saw it, and she warily surrendered it to the French woman, whose seemingly set-in-stone face faltered as her eyes widened at the figure. The crazed woman, impatient to see what was leaving the others so dumbfounded, snatched it ruthlessly from the French woman's hands, leaving a small corner of the paper still in her thin fingers.

"All this money just to kill Commies…" She stared blankly at the paper for several moments, her hand resting incredulously on her broad forehead. "By Uncle Sam's beard, you've got yourself a mercenary! When can I start?" She seemed as if she were about to fly off of her bed and dash to the nearest battlefield still in her hospital gown.

Miss Pauling, initially worried about the potential for success of her employer's plan, was pleased to see that the women were so impressed by the figure, which was easily less than half of what the men were paid. However, her conscience badgered her about partaking in such cold-hearted trickery. She managed to shake off the feeling enough to keep her friendly, truthful demeanor going strong.

"Alright, so one of you is in. What about the rest of you?" The undecided women fell silent as they thought for several moments.

"Vhile I must admit zhat zhe money is sorely tempting, I personally vould like to have confirmation zhat I actually did enlist," the German woman said.

"Same here," seconded the Texan woman.

"Agreed," the French woman added. The Hispanic woman simply nodded in concurrence.

"Ah, you girls are all just being cowards. But hey, that's perfectly fine with me if you all just wanna scamper home to your kitchens and rub your poor husband's feet when he gets home from work. After all, war is no place for a pathetic little housewife." All four of the other women stared at the crazed woman with some variation of anger on their faces.

"Excuse me? Now, you listen here. I sure as heck ain't no housewife. I am more than capable of standin' on my own two feet, so if you're plannin' on accusin' me of bein' some subservient helpmeet, you're sorely mistaken."

"Yes. If you make zhe mistake of insulting _me_, you will wake up one morning to find your fat neck slit… Or razher, you won't wake up at all."

"I vould zhink it best zhat you vatch your tongue from now on, fraulein." The offender sat stone-still under their gazes, not budging in the slightest.

"Well then. _Prove it_ to me that you're not all just whining bitches. Go without proof."

The other women began to contemplate the prudence of proving themselves to the woman who would obviously never let them hear the end of requiring to see their contracts, should they stand by their initial demands. Four years with her tormenting them relentlessly for not giving into her goading would be hard to withstand, they all were forced to admit. But none of them were wholly convinced that Miss Pauling was telling the truth; she noticed it, and decided it was time to give them a little push herself.

"I _completely_ understand your concerns about the truth of my story, I honestly do. It definitely is quite on the stranger side of the scale. But my best physical proof _is_ your contracts, which are all under tight lock and key and unable to be retrieved until you agree to come back to BLU, as they contain information that cannot be disclosed to the general public. So if you absolutely refuse to return until you see your contracts, I'm afraid you're out of a job." To emphasize her point, she plucked the paper with the salary value from the crazed woman's loosened grip, and returned it to her pocket.

"Hey, you know I'm in," the crazed woman said, wishing Miss Pauling hadn't taken the paper away with its promise of riches. She and Miss Pauling looked at the others who had yet to make a decision. It wasn't long before one of them finally spoke up.

"I… I suppose I'm in as vell," the German woman uttered with hints of faltering still remaining as her hand ran nervously from the side of her head to the back of her neck.

"Well, I guess you can… Count me in too," added the Texan woman with a sigh after another short pause.

"I'll go," said the Hispanic woman quietly with a raised hand. Everyone turned to look at the French woman, who was staring down in contemplation. Soon enough, she made her decision.

"I can't believe I'm doing zhis… But I will join you," she grumbled, irritated at herself for giving in. How someone as strong-willed as herself could be made to submit to peer pressure, she would never know.

The money was simply too much to pass up, and Miss Pauling was relieved to see that her ploy had worked. Her conscience returned again, but it was somewhat easier to push away this time.

"Great! Now, I'm sure you all still want to see your contracts, though, so I'll send word to our record-keepers to retrieve them. However, it _will _take awhile to get all of the proper permissions and such. Security is pretty tight around here, as I'm sure you all probably guessed," she said, this time telling something much closer to the truth. "In the meantime, we also have a small examination to give you all that will help our scientists determine just to what extent your memories were affected. Right now, though, you ladies should get your rest. The next week will be _very _hectic, since we'll be trying to get you back on schedule, and let's just say you are _pretty _far behind." At that, she stood and pushed the chair back to the desk it was originally stationed at. She straightened out her skirt and brushed back a few stray strands of black hair before turning to leave.

"If you'll excuse me, I have some further business to attend to. I'll leave you in the hands of our doctors for now, but expect to see me back tomorrow. Good day, ladies." The women watched her as Patterson opened the door for her, closing it as soon as she was in the hallway. The room was silent for several moments before Green spoke up.

"Well, now that your explanation is done, it's time to get down to business."

"Business?" the crazed woman asked, eyeing Green and Patterson suspiciously.

"We just need to do some basic check-ups, nothing major. Gotta make sure you're all in working condition," Patterson joked, trying to lighten the mood. The Texan and German were the only ones to respond with token chuckles.

"We'll start with Ms. Schulz here and work our way around." Green took the stethoscope from around his neck and placed the earpieces in their proper positions as Patterson pulled the German's privacy curtain around. There was nothing particularly private being examined, of course, but she did it anyway. She wasn't going to act like Lakely and let her anger towards one person change her attitude towards everyone else.

* * *

Out in the hallway, Miss Pauling was greeted by the sight of Walker sulking in a plastic chair beside the door. He was glaring at her with such malice that she almost felt frightened. In fact, if she wasn't the Administrator's assistant, she would most certainly have been frightened. But that was the thing about being the Administrator's right-hand woman: her position was one that generally intimidated other people to the point that they didn't even dare to verbally insult her out of fear of incurring her employer's wrath. Really, there were times she felt the only person in the world more powerful than her was the Administrator herself, and that was definitely a strange thing to feel. But since there was always that one person ahead of her, the feeling never quite managed to work its way into her head.

Her relationship with the mercenaries of RED and BLU also helped, though. Something about the way they went about their job kept her humble. It wasn't that she didn't think she could do it, oh no. She wasn't sure what class she best fit, but she knew could perform at least decently in one of them. No, it was something about their teamwork. They worked together to achieve the best results in battle, they enjoyed each others' company during ceasefires, they got into small scraps but nothing that ruined a friendship…

That was it. They were friends. No matter how grueling the battle, how angry the Administrator, how bloody the deaths, they all remained friends. And friends were something her position couldn't offer her, and in fact did quite the opposite. A friendship with someone as cold and unsociable as the Administrator, who didn't even share her full name with anyone, was unfathomable. Most everyone else who worked for TFi was afraid of her and her powerful connections. Her schedule and oaths of secrecy made it practically impossible to find friends outside of work. Really, the closest thing she had to friends were the mercenaries, and they were acquaintances at most. While she did know pretty much all of their life secrets, she never had an opportunity to get to know any of them on a personal level and it was technically forbidden by contract anyway.

Thinking about the relationships shared between the mercenaries brought back the pang of her conscience. She was one of the people who helped tear such beautiful friendships apart with trickery and lies at the command of the Administrator. How she had gotten herself into such an amoral job, she didn't even remember anymore; all she knew was that now, she was stuck in it and had to live with the consequences of a pained conscience. But she could handle it. The Administrator's assistant had to be able to handle anything thrown her way.

"Don't act like such a child, Walker. The Administrator wouldn't be pleased to hear of you acting this way." At her threat, Walker straightened in his seat and crossed his legs.

"I wouldn't have to act this way if you hadn't barged into _my_ work," he spat contemptuously.

"So what if I 'barged into' the _Administrator's_ project?" she corrected. "_You_, as head scientist, should be the one most willing to do whatever it takes to ensure this experiment is a success."

"Not if it means that someone completely unaware of the finer points of the project gets to take over!"

"I know much more about this than you seem to think I do, Walker. The Administrator might've hired an idiot when she brought you on board, but she most certainly did _not_ hire one in me. So stop trying to act like your word is law. It's not."

"Yours isn't either, Miss Pauling."

"I never said _mine_ was. The _Administrator's_ is." Walker couldn't argue there. After all, it was the undeniable truth. She had everything and everyone on a tight rein and no amount of thrashing, twisting, or biting was going to break that rein.

* * *

"Alright. Looks like everyone is in tip-top shape and ready to train again!" Green said as he finished examining what he could of the crazed woman. Patterson pushed back the privacy curtain and Green replaced the clipboard on the wall.

"We're done with you all for now, so it looks like you'll have time to get to know each other better," Patterson added cheerfully as she made her way towards the door.

"Yes, that is a great idea, Nurse Patterson. You'll be working together for quite awhile, after all." Green joined Patterson as she opened the door. "We'll be back later." At that, they stepped outside and promptly shut the door. The room was once again silent as none of the women knew exactly how best to start up a conversation with such a varied assortment of strangers. The Texan, being the friendliest of the group, was the one to finally speak after several minutes of that awkward quiet.

"So... I, uh, guess we'll start off with some proper introductions." When none objected or offered to begin, she continued. "I'm Catherine Woodham. I'm from Moulton, Texas, and I'm a general mechanic and inventor. I have eleven PhD's in various hard sciences, along with a minor in music." She added the minor as a slight afterthought. She didn't want to sound as if she were bragging, but at the same time she considered it much worse to allow herself to be labeled as a stereotypical "redneck" or "hick" because of her accent.

"So basically, you're an egghead," the crazed woman jabbed, much preferring brawns over brains when it came to fellow soldiers. She hoped she wasn't the only fighter in the group, but the appearances of the others gave her no promises. Catherine was visibly offended, but inwardly relieved that her intelligence was recognized even if not exactly how she intended.

"I much prefer the term 'intellectual', thank you very much."

"Yeah, whatever."

"You said you're an inventor, ja? Perhaps you could tell us about some of your inventions?" The German inquired, personally impressed to have such an intelligent person on her team. Catherine was likewise pleased to find someone interested in her achievements, as she was often snubbed when trying to share her accomplishments.

"Of course! Let's see… One of my inventions is…" She thought for several moments, but found that was unable to recall any inventions. The harder she thought, the fuzzier things seem to become, and she could think of nothing to give her even the slightest clue. "What _have_ I invented? I… I can't remember."

"Nozhing at all?"

"Nope. It's all gone. I mean, I know I invented _somethin'_. And I know it's several things. But I just… Can't think of what they are," she replied, realizing that perhaps Miss Pauling's story really _was _true. The others seemed to share some of the same thoughts. After yet another period of quiet, the German decided to continue the introductions.

"Vhile Cazherine tries to remember, I suppose I'll introduce myself as vell. I am Dr. Ilsa Schulz und I am from Grünstadt, Germany. In my studies, I focused purely on medicine, but I am also a bit of a musician in my free time, like Cazherine." Catherine was further thrilled to find that Ilsa was even more like-minded.

"Smart _and_ into music! I like you already, Ilsa!" Ilsa shared her delight at finding a friend so easily. "So what do ya play? I'm partial to the guitar, myself."

"I personally am a fan of zhe violin, but I am also decent at zhe piano."

"Ah, a classical musician. So have ya-"

"Oh my God, will you two just stop?!" the crazed woman interrupted, unable to withstand the subject any longer. "All this talk of music and smartness is making me feel sick to my stomach. I thought I joined an army, not a high school cheerleading squad! Let's talk about some _real_ stuff! Like guns and explosions and blood and guts and barbeque ribs!"

"Well then honey, why don't _you_ introduce yourself to us?" Catherine wasn't sure if she would be able to live with this woman for four years without losing her sanity.

"I will! I am John Buck, military officer extraordinaire! I have partaken in horrific battles all across-"

"Wait, wait, wait. 'John Buck'? Now, I thought your last name was 'Quincy'," Catherine interjected, quickly catching the information discrepancy along with Ilsa and the French woman.

"Don't listen to a word that quack says! That is not, I repeat, _not_, my real last name! I must keep the name "Michelle Quincy" an undisclosed secret in order to protect the safety of America!" It took her several moments and a few amused looks to realize her mistake. "Wait a minute… Uh, you did _not_ hear that! That is top secret information that went straight over all of your heads! Got it?!"

"Sure thing, _John_," Catherine replied, deciding to humor Michelle at least for the time being. "So how 'bout one of you two join us?" she asked the French woman and Hispanic woman, who had remained silent up until that point. They looked at each other, both offering to let the other go first, and it was the French woman who spoke.

"I am Veronique Gravois, from Blagnac, France. I am an actress. Zhat is all you need to know about me." The others were left slightly uncomfortable by her abrupt and vague introduction.

"Really? An _actor_? This is starting to look even _more_ like the sorriest bunch of soldiers I've ever seen! I mean, only _one _of us has _any_ combat experience! Come on, an egghead, a doctor, and an actor. That's _sure_ to leave our enemies quaking in mortal terror!" Michelle lost all hope that she was on a competent team and almost regretted taking the job.

"I never said I didn't have any combat experience. And zhere is still one left to introduce herself to us." All looked at the final woman, who seemed to shrink ever so slightly under their gazes, even though two of them were friendly.

"I'm Mariana Cruz. I'm from Todos Santos, Mexico and I worked on my family's farm." She spoke quietly and quickly, much to the annoyance of Michelle.

"Come on, girl, speak up! We gotta hear you!" She gave a rather loud demonstration with what was apparently her inside voice.

"I'm Mariana Cruz. I'm from Todos Santos, Mexico and I worked on my family's farm," she repeated, somewhat louder but nowhere close to Michelle's level.

"A farm girl? I don't understand why _you_ got on board either! Do you have any sort of _talents_ or something like that?" Michelle was scrutinizing Mariana closely, and it unnerved her greatly.

"No sé… I… Um… I like fire," she finally offered.

"Well, I guess I can see where that'd come in handy." Michelle was finally starting to realize the true use behind her teammates and she began calculating the potential roles each could play. "OK, so I'm the brawn, obviously, and the leader too." The others clearly didn't approve, but thought it best to simply play along for the time being. "Egghead's gonna make and repair guns and traps and vehicles and stuff like that. Doc's, well, the team doctor, and maybe some sort of poison and torture specialist, too. Mumbles…" She stared at the smaller woman for a moment in thought, waggling her index finger absentmindedly. "Mumbles is our firebomb master, I'd say. Now, Crouton here… I just don't see what good an actor would do in war…"

"Perhaps she vould be good at sneaking into zhe ozher team's headquarters und acquiring information?" Ilsa suggested as Michelle scratched her chin thoughtfully.

"I've got it! Crouton could be like a spy and sneak behind enemy lines to gather top secret information _right_ from under the enemies' noses! It's perfect!" She threw her hands up in success while Ilsa slapped her forehead. "Alright, so maybe this team isn't as hopeless as I thought. I think we might just stand a chance after all!"

"You do remember zhat zhere are ozhers we will be joining, right?" Veronique asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah! That's even better! Maybe there'll be more _real _soldiers to meet." The others sent the conversation in a different direction while Michelle drifted off into her own thoughts.

"I tell ya what though, I'm startin' to get a little bit confused about this 'war' we enlisted for the more I think about it. Didn't Miss Pauling say that this is a fight between two _companies_?" Catherine pointed out.

"You're right. I vouldn't expect two companies to engage in complete _varfare_, no matter how much zhey hated each ozher. It's just a business, after all." Catherine and Mariana nodded in agreement with Ilsa.

"However, it is a fairly simple matter to deduce zhat zhese are not normal companies, oui? Have any of you even heard of zhese 'companies' before? Zhis RED and BLU?" Veronique raised a very important point.

"I can't say that I have," Catherine answered. Ilsa and Mariana shook their heads.

"I would advise everyone in zhis room to be wary of everyzhing you hear and see from now on. We've likely gotten ourselves into a sticky situation, and I, at zhe very least, plan on not being any more of a fool zhan I already have been." Michelle finally returned to the conversation.

"_I_ think you're just being way too cautious about things, Crouton. You gotta live life on the edge if you ever wanna amount to anything!"

"I would appreciate you not calling me 'Crouton'. And zhere is a difference between living an exciting life and living a reckless one."

"And that difference is?"

"Zhe difference between zhe two is zhat one is much more likely to get you killed. Zhat one is zhe reckless life, just to clarify for you." The insult at her intelligence flew right over Michelle's head.

"Ah, so what if it might kill you? I'd rather be dead than bored."

"And _zhat_ is zhe difference between us, my friend. I value my life enough to be able to give up certain deadly pleasures." The room fell silent for a brief moment. "Does anyone happen to have a cigarette on zhem? I could really use one right now."

"So much for giving up deadly pleasures," Ilsa commented drily, earning chuckles from Catherine and Michelle and a dirty look from Veronique.

* * *

Now we're _really_ getting somewhere in introducing the girls. Hopefully their personalities and interactions are believable. I personally really like the idea of Cathy and Ilsa being close friends. They just kinda click together in my mind as the type of friends that often have typical girl-talk about men and music and other feminine things when not brutally murdering REDs. They're tough, independent warriors, yes, but they're still girls and girls gotta stick together in a world that prefers the other gender. :P

I'll admit that when I came up with the girls' hometowns, I just kinda looked up lists of towns from Texas, Germany, France, and Mexico and picked what I thought sounded good. It would be such an amazing coincidence if someone reading this story was actually _from_ one of the places I picked, but then I would be even more reluctant to write anything pertaining to actually describing those towns out of fear of being horribly incorrect. :B Hopefully, I can just avoid that altogether and write my story in blissful ignorance. LOL

Hopefully I have made it clear what this will do to help solve TFi's money issues for those that were confused. And for anyone that's still confused, this is the sixties. And these are women. Sexism is the driving force behind choosing to replace the men with women. Not necessarily that the Administrator or anyone else is particularly sexist against women, but it does help make the lies more believable, IMHO.

I bet there's someone out there wondering, "What happened to the guys? When are we gonna get back to them? It's been two whole chapters!" You must have patience, young reader. We'll get back to them in due time. We have to meet the RED girls too, you know. ;) I know I've been neglecting RED horribly up to this point, but they'll have their times in the spotlight, particularly later in the story. It's just turning out to be hard to focus on them over BLU since, as I said at the beginning, most of the important characters kinda just wound up being put on BLU. And that's actually mostly because of the original plot I had formulated a while back, in which the girls were created by RED Medic for no particular reason other than I figured Medic would be the type of person to just screw around with stuff like this in the name of science (although Valve's tendency to focus on RED also helped me choose BLU as the main team). Boy, I'm glad I got a better idea, aren't you guys?

God, I'm getting such a horrible urge to jump ahead and write things from late in the story. I just can't wait to get to those parts, but it's going to take so long that it's hard to control myself (I want to go ahead and write the romance so badly it hurts. :'c Maybe I should get my need for romance out with that SniperXReader fic I got an idea for…). This is what planning awesome things ahead of time nets you, I suppose (I'm experiencing the same thing with my Nuzlocke). :/ But then I suppose that also provides incentive to keep writing so that I can eventually get to those parts. Inspiration is definitely turning out to be a horribly-conflicting double-edged sword. I wish I would write this thing faster. XD

Now for the obligatory cry for feedback. *Ahem* GIBEH REVIEWS PL0X I NEEDZ THEM 2 RITE MOAR KTHNXBAI :'D


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